Life Begins Again
by Foxesandmagic
Summary: After the War, no one was quite the same. Even those that had stayed at home felt the strain of the fighting, the strain of warfare on civilians. People deal with change, and horrors, in different ways. How will things have changed for Luce, Stan and Hal, and will they be pulled into the world of Tommy Shelby because of it?
1. Chapter One: Birmingham Bound

_Dear Luce,_

_I hope this letter reaches you well._

_Thanks for the sketch of that barge. I mean, I think it was a barge, I could not actually tell. But, as it is you, that's what I suppose it was._

_In answer to your question, it's not so bad here. The lads keep singing songs when we get a moment, quiet songs so as not to attract too much attention. It keeps spirits raised when we need it the most. And God knows we need that. This wasn't exactly how I envisioned seeing the continent, but it's a start. Fighting to keep it safe._

_Guess who I saw today? Kenneth Watts! I did not realise that he had joined up as well, but it makes sense. He said hello to you by the way (after chiding me for being there). I told him that you would send a kiss in return. You should have seen his blush!_

_I will see you shortly, Luce, don't you worry about that._

_Tutto il mio amore, piccola rossa,_

_Sy_

Luce forced her eyes closed, forced the tears back before they could fall. She no longer needed to see the letter to remember the words. Every curve of her best friend's writing was practically burnt onto her retinas, refusing to let go of her. The words kept coming back to her, unbidden, as the scenery sped passed the train window; green whipping by like nothing she had ever seen before.

What she wouldn't have given for Sy to be sat beside her for this little adventure instead of her bag. The bag was all she'd allowed herself to take from home. It was filled with two sets of clothes, a raggedy teddy bear that she'd been given when she was five, the money she'd managed to save up from money her mother had given her for odd jobs and two pictures. One was her and her family, the other was of Sylvain.

The idea had been to get away. To leave the city and not look back. She couldn't stand it there anymore. The streets were filled with ghosts, with the signs of people trying to rebuild everything that the War had taken from them. The ghosts in the house were the worst though. Where usually the hallway would be filled with laughter, with the sound of her brother, Wilf, goofing about, now they were silent. Still even. Until something upset him, and sent him shouting his head off, sent him raging at them all.

Sometimes, the crying was the worst of it though. The living nightmares that he couldn't stop.

Again, Luce forced the memory away, tried to think about where she was going.

Birmingham. It hadn't been intentional, just the first place name she'd seen on the board, but now she tried to focus on her excitement. She stoked the embers of the emotion as best she could, refusing to allow dark thoughts to smother it. The midlands was somewhere she'd never been before. Somewhere new. Somewhere to start again.

Her thoughts went back to the house though. To the scrunched up letters she'd left abandoned in her bin, unable to finish them. The words had felt hollow, had felt merely superfluous every time she tried to explain what she was doing. Why she couldn't stay.

In the end, she'd kept it short and sweet:

_I love you. See you soon._

_Luce x_

It was all she'd been able to manage. She hoped they'd understand.

Hell, she even hoped that they might be relieved that they no longer had the burden of another child. Her parents could focus on Wilf, on healing themselves without having to keep an eye on their daughter too.

With a sigh, Luce shifted in her seat, rested her forehead against the cool glass of the window pane. She'd wanted to get a boat up the canal but it would have taken too long. Too easy to spot; too easy to stop. This was her best way of keeping anonymous. Well, as anonymous as a sixteen year old girl travelling alone was ever going to be.

She just hoped that there'd be something worthwhile in Birmingham, but she had a good feeling about it. One that she decided to hold onto, to nurture until it was all she could think about. About how wonderful this next big adventure was going to be. Because, after four years of war, everyone deserved a little piece of wonderful.

'You want to do what?' Stanley asked, not looking up from his grooming of the horse. He knew that he should feel glad Tommy was coming to him, that he was actually telling someone his plan, but he knew it was more to do with circumstance than anything else. He knew his brother better than that; but that didn't make the realisation sting any less.

'I've got it figured out,' Tommy said with his usual easy confidence. The smell of smoke rose through the air, and Stan knew that his brother had just exhaled slowly. 'I just need Monaghan Boy.'

'Charlie said no, didn't he?' Stan cooed softly into the ear of the mare he was grooming, stroked her forehead and then turned to face his brother. To an outsider he probably didn't even look like he'd been in the War. He looked like he could have charmed the Germans into submission all by himself. But Stanley knew better. The familiar glint of amusement was gone from behind his eyes, replaced with something harder, more calculating. There no longer seemed to be a permanent smile on Tommy's lips.

'It's my horse, Stan.'

'Then why didn't you just go get him?'

Tommy surveyed him for a moment, and Stanley had the uncomfortable sensation of being examined. It was as if his own brother was trying to figure out if he could be trusted; weighing up the options of how much to share.

Tommy blew out another drag of smoke. 'Curly's bringing him round. I just wanted to see what you thought.'

'What I thought of you using the powder trick on a horse?' Stanley couldn't keep the scepticism out of his voice. 'We trained him up well enough. He'll win.'

'Long enough?'

'Long enough for what?' Stan asked, despite how he was dreading the answer.

But, he never got one. Curly led the stallion in question over to them, a small smile on his face as he eased the creature closer.

'What's Arthur say about all this?' Stan asked.

Tommy put his cigarette out on a nearby watering can, then threw the stub away. Even as he moved to gently stroke Monaghan Boy, even as he expertly pulled himself onto the saddle, Tommy was silent. Stanley knew better than to push his brother for an answer, knew that if he was going to get one it would happen in Tommy's own time. Not a moment sooner.

'Thanks, Curly,' Tommy said, gently easing Monaghan Boy to face the other way. 'Don't worry Stan. It'll all work out.'

Stanley opened his mouth to argue, but Tommy was already trotting away. Instead, he sighed.

'You all right, Mr. Shelby, sir?' Curly asked, his attention curiously, worriedly, on Stan.

'Yeah, I'm all right Curly,' he said softly, really beginning to dread just what his brother might be up to this time.

The shop was alive with noise, shouting and commotion filled the space, putting Hal at ease. The streets had been too quiet on the walk in that morning; quiet in the living sense, given house noisy John's house had been. The kids had been running riot, barely tamed by the singsong voice of Cecily Hawthorne calling them for breakfast. That woman was a Godsend sometimes; especially at times like this when worked called and John had no one else that he could turn to.

Hal lent back on the railing, surveying the information John had already written up on the boards; let his calling out of the information wash over him, getting lost in the noise of everything else. It might not be the most exciting work around, making sure no trouble swelled in the shop, but it was still better than nothing.

With a sigh, he turned to look at the customers, to make sure that none of them were trying anything. Of course they weren't, not in a Shelby establishment, but he needed to keep an eye out as a precaution. Needed to make sure that no one was trying to make something of themselves in the chaos that was early morning bets.

That's when he saw Tommy walking through, glancing over books and talking to some of the workers, the usual calm authority about him that had helped so much over the years. The kind that had been a mere sliver before the War, but was something impressive now.

'John,' he said, raising his voice just a little, 'Tommy's here.'

'Take this,' John said, handing the chalk over to Hal before hurrying down the steps.

Hal opened his mouth to argue but sighed. There was no point reminding John that he didn't get the numbers, didn't understand how John filtered all the information out. John already knew, but this was important; he'd needed Tommy. Hal would just have to try and make sense of it all for the moment; try not to screw anything up.

Not a minute later John was rushing back up the steps.

'Done already?' Hal asked, grateful that he could hand the chalk back without having had to write a single number up.

'Just telling him about Monaghan Boy. And Arthur wanted to see him,' said John, stepping back towards the board confidentially.

Neither of them said anything more for a few minutes, letting the rush of the work envelope them, knowing that the race wasn't too far away, that they needed to collect every bet they could.

The hubbub swelled for a moment before Hal finally asked, 'The powder trick?'

'The bloody powder trick,' agreed John, and there was a flicker of doubt behind his voice. 'Billy Kimber won't be happy.'

'Kimber's never happy, John,' Hal said, turning his attention back towards the workers as Tommy left the office, Arthur not far behind. 'But it looks like we might just get some answers.' He shrugged when John turned to glance back at him. 'Well, as many as ever with Tom.'

A wicked grin spread easily across John's face as he turned back to the board, to the job at hand.

'I'm calling a family council tonight at eight o'clock,' said Arthur, irritation seeming to radiate off him in a way that Hal hadn't seen much of in recent months. It was almost as if he couldn't control it, couldn't tamper it down when it came to dealing with Tommy. 'I want all of us there.'

But Tommy had already turned his back and was walking away. Whatever he had planned Hal knew that they weren't going to hear much about it until it was truly necessary.

'You hear me? There's trouble coming,' said Arthur, but his voice had lost some of the previous volume as he realised it was a losing battle. Tommy was long gone.

'Looks like we've got plans tonight,' John murmured, clapping Hal on the shoulder before turning back to the board, completely in his element.

'When ain't we?' said Hal, but he was grateful for the distraction. Grateful for something to think about instead of whatever other shit his head might want to dredge up, like it usually did in the moments of quiet.

It was mid-afternoon by the time Luce's train finally pulled into the station. She hugged her bag close, hurried through the crowd of people, and pushed her way through to the streets beyond. The city wasn't, in fact, that different from London. There were people milling around, others hurrying on their way. The roads were mainly quiet with the odd horse trotting through; occasionally a car would come cruising around the corner, a confident driver behind the wheel, making sure people saw them.

And yet, there was something so different about it that made her blood sing with the excitement of it all. Whatever reservations she might have had about being this far from London were forgotten. All her troubles were back in that city. This was something new, something exciting.

'Spare change?'

An uncertain, almost nasally voice pulled Luce's attention away from the scene around her and towards an elderly woman hunched to her right. Beggars weren't uncommon, but there was something about the accent that had caught her off guard. The intonation was different.

'Sorry,' Luce said, already backing away from the woman, 'I –'

'Watch out!'

Luce's attention snapped towards the road. A man was being ushered through the street by two others, both of whom looked about ready to attack, but neither of them making the move. The fear, the uncertainty caused was enough to keep the third man moving. Enough to have every other eye in the street turned decidedly away from the little scene.

Every eye, other than Lucinda's. She'd seen this kind of thing before in London. She'd seen the way street gangs dealt with snitches and rivals. However hard Sy had tried to keep her from that side of the city, it was always there, bubbling just under the surface. Following him like a stray that just wouldn't give up.

And then, they were gone. Disappeared around a corner and the whole street seemed to let go of a relieved breath.

Luce had to force herself to cross the road, to walk away. Otherwise her stay in Birmingham might be very short lived.

So she walked, bag hanging by her side now, her back straight and the air of confidence that her mother had taught her long ago. If there was one thing she'd picked up it was people spotted victims. If she looked as though she were afraid of something happening it was more likely to happen. So she walked with the assurance of someone who knew the city, tried not to let the full weight of her awe show. She took turns with as much purpose in her stride as she could, even when she realised that she'd left the main high street behind long ago. Even as she realised that she was coming towards the darker side of the city. Towards boatyards and more factories.

'Who are you?' a voice asked softly, pulling her attention quickly from a pile of scraps that she'd almost walked into and towards a gangly looking kid who couldn't have been more than about sixteen. Her age, at least that was something.

'Could ask you the same thing,' she said simply, her hands instinctively tightening on the strap of her bag; attention skimming the area for a possible escape route.

A flicker of amusement on the kid's face. 'You're not from 'round here.'

Luce merely shrugged.

The boy wiped his hands firmly down his trousers before holding one out to her. There was an actual smile on his face now, one that instantly had her feeling at ease. 'Stanley Shelby.'

'Lucinda Turner,' she said, taking his hand and shaking it carefully. 'Most people call me Luce though.'

'D'you get lost?' he asked, retracting his hand and instead sticking it in his pocket.

'I'm never lost,' she told him haughtily. 'It's all just part of the adventure.'

Stanley scoffed, a sound that brought a small smile to Luce's face despite her moment of insult. 'Won't your family be worried?'

The warmth of happiness faded instantly. 'I should be going,' she said, turning slowly. But that's when she came face-to-face with a woman who looked older than them. She had short cut hair, a hat perched neatly on top, and her eyes were narrowed towards Luce as if she were ready to rip into her.

'Ada, meet Luce,' Stanley said. 'Luce, this is my sister.'

'Nice to meet you,' Luce said, offering out her hand. Her chest tightened; the thought of being trapped, of some kind of ploy, grew.

Ada eyed the extended hand for a moment before shaking it, an easy smile spreading onto her own face. 'About time you made some friends, Stan,' she teased, before tilting her head a little to one side, to get a better look at her brother. 'Arthur's called a family meeting.'

'Right,' said Stanley, and suddenly Luce felt as though she were intruding. She glanced towards him, but there was something about the look on his face, the way his eyes were slightly downcast, the tension in his shoulders, that forced her to stay.

'Eight o'clock. He wants everyone there.' Ada infused the words with a kind of authority.

'Right,' Stanley said again, nodding slightly this time. 'I'll be there.'

'Good,' Ada said. She lingered for a moment before she turned to Luce. 'If you want to see the city, just let me know. Or, let Stan know. Nice to meet you.' She shot Luce a warm smile before turning and leaving.

Luce watched her for a moment, wondering how exactly the woman managed to still look glamorous while in the middle of a scrapyard of sorts, before she shook her head clear and turned back to Stanley.

'So,' said Luce, watching as Stanley shifted his attention back to the horse he'd been grooming. His hands were quick against the horse's skin, gentle though she assumed because the horse seemed to be leaning into him ever so slightly. 'Where's good to stay here?'

'Don't you have rooms sorted or that?' he asked.

'No,' Luce admitted, knowing the fact he wasn't looking made it easier.

His hands stilled. 'No?'

'Thought I'd find somewhere while here.' She tried to sound nonchalant, tried to brush aside the fact that she was horribly under prepared for this trip, but she heard the faint trace of uncertainty behind her voice.

Stanley sighed; obviously, he'd heard it too. 'Try the Garrison,' he suggested. 'Harry's always got a room somewhere.'

'The Garrison?'

'It's a pub,' Stanley explained before turning to face her. 'I know he was looking for help there, but I don't think –'

'That sounds perfect! I can help and –'

'Luce, you don't understand.'

'– get paid, and get a room and it'll be all right,' she continued, ignoring the look that Stanley was now shooting her. It seemed to have mild fear mingled in with alarm. 'Thanks Stanley.' She beamed at him before hurrying away, eager to try finding this mysterious pub, not wanting to ask for directions because that was half the fun.

Even as she moved away she could have sworn she heard Stanley groan. She'd have to remember to come back here again one day in the hopes of seeing him, perhaps even bumping into Ada. At least then there'd be a familiar face, or two, in Birmingham in case she really did need a little help navigating the place.

'Tom asked you to what?' John asked as he and Hal weaved their way through the alleyways of Small Heath, heading towards the family meeting. The kids hadn't liked John leaving, had clung to him for a moment before Hal had promised that they'd be back before they knew it. That, if they were lucky, Cece would read them a story.

He'd earned a cuff round the back of the head for that, but it had been worth it.

But Hal could see the toll leaving the little ones was having on John, again. As if it wasn't bad enough that he'd missed four years of the elder ones' lives. As if it wasn't bad enough that their mother had been taken from them. And so Hal had told him about a little meeting with Tommy; a meeting that didn't really concern John, but that he needed right about now.

'Apparently we ain't protecting the Garrison well enough.' Hal didn't mention that it was Danny that had sparked this idea of more bodies in the pub; didn't mention that Freddie Thorne had been there to help calm the situation this time. He'd seen the tension in Tommy's shoulders at the time, but the other man hadn't mentioned any of that.

'Bull –' John's curse was cut short by the barrel of a gun being pressed against his cheek. In an instant, Hal's own weapon was raised, but when he saw Polly he shifted the grip, lowered the gun ever so slightly but didn't fully relinquish his hold on it.

'Look at the gun,' Polly said, and Hal watched as his friend seemed to turn into a small child again. It was like when they got caught hiding Ada's toys in the streets. 'Recognise it?'

John made a slight sound of affirmation.

Polly finally lowered the gun, and Hal did the same.

Next thing he knew, Polly was clouting John around the ear. He went down like a sack of potatoes, and Hal took a slight step backwards. He didn't want to be next on Polly's hit list. Too many times he'd taken some of the wrap for what John had done. Today was not going to be one of those days.

'Get up off your arse, you mumping pig!'

'Aunt Pol! What the fuck d'you do that for?!' asked John, getting up quickly, his attention shifting towards Hal, who was merely watching on with mild amusement. Telling offs were so much better when you weren't drawn into them yourself. He half wondered if that was something that ever changed, but he seriously doubted it. There was still something hilarious about seeing fully grown John Shelby get told off by his aunt.

'Finn was playing with this this afternoon by the cut. It was loaded. He nearly blew Ada's tits off,' Polly said simply.

'It must've fell out of me pocket,' reasoned John, casting a quick, beseeching look Hal's way.

But Hal merely offered him a slight half-shrug. There was no way he was getting in the middle of this one. No matter how much John might have wanted backup.

'He said,' Polly went on, unrelenting, 'he found it on the sideboard of the betting shop… with bullets in it.'

'I mu – I must've been drunk.'

Polly took a step closer to John, her eyes narrowed accusingly on Hal for only a moment. 'When are you not drunk?'

'Look, Aunt Pol, I'm sorry. Ri – I – I'm sorry,' John said, a slight lisp to his voice where the match hung from his mouth. A reminder of his desire to quit smoking.

'We'll keep this between ourselves if you swear not to leave guns lying around. And you,' she said, her attention snapping to Hal, making him feel like a pinned insect in the museum, 'make sure it doesn't happen again.'

'Yes Ma'am,' Hal said as John inclined his head ever so slightly.

She looked between the two of them before finally handing John his gun back. 'Look, I know having four kids without a woman is hard. But my boot's harder. Now, come on, we're late.'

She turned to go, not checking that the two of them were following.

John hit Hal around the back of the head himself. 'Thanks for nothing.'

'What was I meant to do?' complained Hal, rubbing the injury gently. 'You picked a fight with her, not me.'

'I – I…' John sucked his teeth before hurrying after his aunt, leaving Hal wondering if there would ever be a time Polly Gray's wrath wouldn't instil fear into the Shelby boys and their friends. He was dubious though, a thought which brought an odd smirk to his face as he followed on to the family meeting.

'Finn, come away from there,' Stan said, shifting to try and grab his brother's shoulder. The ten year old refused though, and turned his head too close to Stanley's hand for comfort. Stanley retracted his hand as if he'd been burnt. 'Were you gonna bite me?!'

Finn didn't answer, merely put his head closer to the crack in the doors. Not that there was much point. Stanley could hear Arthur conducting the meeting without much trouble.

'Right,' his eldest brother announced, 'I've called this family meeting because I've got some very important news. Scudboat and Lovelock got back from Belfast last night. They were buying a stallion to cover their mares.'

'Finn, come on!' whined Stanley. There had been a time when him just saying Finn's name would be enough to pull him away from the distraction. But that had been before their brother's came back. Before the family business was back in full swing, and the Blinders were offering protection to the people that they knew best.

'I wanna hear,' complained Finn when Stanley finally had hold of his shoulder, was finally able to guide him away.

'It's men's talk.'

'Why's Ada and Aunt Pol in there then?' complained Finn. He hadn't bothered to shrug Stanley's hand off his shoulder, which was something at least. 'Why ain't you in there?'

'Don't wanna be,' Stan said simply, but his stomach twisted. He knew what went on in those meetings, knew the kinds of things that got discussed. Tommy had told him little bits, as if trying to ease him into the whole affair. John and Hal had all but told him a plan once in their attempt to get him to help with it. But he'd declined. There were still stallions to look after and mares to care for. Wasn't actually looking after racehorses part of what they did? Surely he could stick to that side of business.

'You're boring,' whined Finn.

'And you're too young to…' Stan's voice petered out and he let his hand fall from his brother's shoulder. He was about to utter the words that had irked him so much as a child, and he wasn't sure that he could do it. Not yet at least. 'Come on, why don't we find something else to do?'

'Like find that gun again?' Finn's eyes lit up with something close to excitement as he turned to look up at Stan.

'Maybe something less dangerous,' murmured Stanley, putting a hand back on the boy's shoulder and pulling him away from the meeting. Yet he couldn't help but look over his shoulder at the closed doors and wonder just what they were planning this time.

Luce tucked another stray strand of red hair into her ponytail. The Garrison had actually been pretty easy to find. She'd heard a couple of people talking about it, about how some guy had gone in and been dealt with by Tommy Shelby and Freddie Thorne. She didn't dwell too much on how he'd been "dealt" with, or the fact that one of them shared a surname with Stanley and Ada. She tried to remind herself that this wasn't London, that the whole Italians and Jews having a turf war was old news. But there was a niggling doubt at the back of her mind, an idea that she couldn't quite shake.

She sucked in a breath before knocking on the doors. The cold afternoon air was biting, but she'd thought it best to wait until just before factory closing time. Less people, more likely to get the full attention of the Harry man Stanley had mentioned. Chances were, this was the best time to do it. Before the crush of people, and now that she had at least a passable understanding of where the other rooms for rent were.

And if the plan failed? Well, she wasn't going to let herself think about that just yet.

A man opened the door, looked a little higher than her head before he realised and adjusted his eye line. A furrow appeared between his brows.

'We're closed,' he said simply, moving to close the door.

Luce put her hand out. 'Please, you're Harry, right?'

'Yes,' he said slowly, surveying her as if trying to figure out where he knew her from.

'I was told you had rooms. _And _you're looking for help.'

She hadn't even said the first few words when he started shaking his head. 'You don't wanna stay here, kid. Your parents probably have somewhere better.'

Luce's stomach knotted but she forced a smile onto her face. 'It's just me,' she said, trying to infuse the words with as much confidence as possible. 'And I'm a hard worker. I can help with the bar, with the cleaning, with –'

'Not here, pet.'

Luce huffed slightly. 'Stan said this was the best place to come.'

Something shifted on Harry's expression. He tried to cover it, but the mask had slipped for a moment.

'And honestly, it's either this or I find somewhere much… _seedier_. Have you ever realised job prospects for women aren't great?' She tilted her head a little to one side. It was one of the things she'd heard her mother complaining about, the fact that after the War men had come back to take the jobs women had been doing in their absence. No thought to the women pushed out of work. No thoughts to even thank them for their efforts. At least not in Camden.

Harry looked as though he was mentally warring with his emotions before he sighed deeply. 'Stanley Shelby told you that?'

She nodded. 'Said about the rooms too.'

There was a flicker of discomfort on Harry's face, but he heaved a sigh and nodded reluctantly. 'You come after hours and help clean the place, and I'll give you a room.'

'Thank you!' she said, beaming at him, having to very sternly remind herself not to hug a complete stranger in her own personal elation.

'Don't thank me yet,' he said, moving to allow her in. 'And don't be here during the day. Find something else to do.'

'I think I can manage that,' Luce assured him.

Harry sighed. 'That doesn't surprise me,' was all he said before indicating behind the bar. 'Room six is free, and might even be clean.'

She nodded before hurrying over, trying to tamper her excitement if even a little in the hopes of not irritating Harry too much on the first day.

But one thing kept bumping her thoughts for attention. The fact that Stan's name was key to all this.

And yet, as she climbed the stairs, grateful that he hadn't already turfed her out because soon the rush would be on, she managed to dislodge the thought and instead went back to realising that she'd done it. She was somewhere new with a roof over her head and the prospect of a job.

Perhaps this running away thing wasn't so difficult after all.

A knock on the door woke Luce the following morning. She scrambled out of bed, grabbed her pack of clothes and waited by the bed with baited breath. Maybe she shouldn't have been so easily swayed by the words of a kid her age and an irritable barman. What if they'd found out she was a runaway, called the police and they were going to take her home?

She couldn't go back, that much she knew. Too much was different. Wilf was different; the city was different without the reassuring knowledge that somewhere, Sy was there too.

But it had only been Harry, letting her know that he'd be opening soon and she'd need to scarper.

Luce had let out a breath of relief, put the pack down but not once had she removed anything from it. The promise of a quick getaway soothed her fears, if only slightly.

The sun was low in the sky as she stepped out into the Birmingham street. People were already hurrying about, looking weary as they headed to work. Some had collars raised against the biting chill of the morning, despite the orange tinge the smoke had already.

It looked like it might actually be a decent day. The perfect day for an adventure.

And yet, even as she walked, Luce realised that she was tracing the path back to the boatyard. Back to where she'd first met Stanley and Ada. Back to something that might well become a comfort to her.

After all, Harry had said to find something else to do with her days, and he'd only promised a room, not a job. And, if the boatyard owner was already employing Stanley…

'Back again?' Stanley asked, cutting her musings short.

Luce felt a smirk slipping onto her face as she turned to see the boy jogging up behind her. His blue eyes seemed to twinkle with something like joy, which she politely ignored.

'What can I say, this is the most interesting place I've found so far.'

Stanley shot her an incredulous look as they kept walking towards the entrance of the boatyard.

'And your sister did say about seeing the city.'

Stanley shook his head ever so slightly; a smile curled his lips. 'There's a picture house.'

Luce mocked a yawn. 'Loads of them back home.'

'It's like that is it?'

She nodded; felt the smile lifting the corners of her lips.

'All right,' he said, motioning her to follow him, 'I'll show you something that I bet you never had in London. Ever seen a haunted stable?'

Luce scoffed. 'No such thing.'

'Isn't there?' Stanley challenged, and for a moment she doubted her own conviction. 'Apparently, this stable was cursed by an old Romani lady when they wouldn't let her tie her boat here. Any horses that come here get so spooked by this place we have to make sure they can't see it.'

'Really?' Luce asked, finding herself drawn into the story that he was telling, drawn into the low tone and hushed volume, even as she searched the boatyard for the stable in question.

'Charlie, who owns this place, said it was part of our family that cursed it.'

Luce turned to look at him, but Stanley was no longer beside her. She looked the other way, but it was as if he'd disappeared into thin air. For a moment, panic clutched at her heart.

'Boo!'

Luce jumped out of her skin as Stanley jumped out from behind a massive box that sat to the left of the stable.

'Jesus Christ,' she swore, shaking her head but feeling the laughter bubble up inside her. But then, her brow furrowed as he hauled open the stable door. 'You're Romani?'

His back seemed to tense ever so slightly, but he didn't turn around. 'Why?'

'No, I'm sorry,' she said quickly, hurrying over to him, hands raised ever so slightly in what she hoped was a peaceable gesture. 'I just… I've never met someone with Romani blood before.'

'Were you expecting…' he started to challenge, but his attention was caught by something else. Something behind Luce.

She turned slowly, felt a ripple of unease down her spine.

But, when she looked into the stable all she saw was a large wooden crate. It was angled away from the door, as if whoever had put it there didn't want anyone to look inside.

Which, of course, was exactly what Luce wanted to do.

'What's that?'

'I dunno. C'mon, let's – Lucinda!'

Luce picked up a crowbar that had been tucked neatly under some of the hay and jammed it into the seam of the crate. Whoever had hidden this was either so confident it wouldn't be found that they had got lazy, or they were just idiots. She wasn't sure which one she'd prefer, but it didn't really matter. The end result was the same either way.

'C'mon, just leave it,' Stan said, putting a hand carefully on her shoulder. But Luce shifted her weight and forced the crowbar to the side.

The door of the crate popped open, causing her to stumble slightly. When she righted herself she looked into the box, moving quickly to Stan's side. 'What is it?' she asked, surveying the boxes that filled the space.

'I don't know,' said Stanley softly. 'I don't think – What are you doing?!'

Lucinda was already pulling one of the smaller boxes out. She heaved the lid open and gasped when she spotted the gun lying carefully inside. It looked almost harmless just sitting there, but she knew better than that.

'What the hell?' she asked, looking quickly towards Stanley. But his face was suddenly pale, and she could tell that he wasn't going to be sharing anything with her any time soon.

Not that it mattered. One way or another, Luce was going to find out what was going on. She just needed to speak to Charlie about helping out with the boats, about actually earning some money, first.

Carefully, she eased the box back into place. 'Any idea where Charlie'll be?' she asked, trying to distract Stanley, to stop the furrow of concern between his brows deepening further. 'I need to speak to him about a job.'

Stan blinked once, twice, a third time but this time his eyes were closed for a fraction of a second longer before he nodded ever so slightly. 'Harry didn't give you a job?' he asked, a hint of concern behind his voice.

She waved it away though, started heading out of the stable, trying to force her thoughts away from what they'd found. What it might mean. 'I work and get a room. But I think you still need money to live up here. That's not a London thing, right?'

Stanley scoffed at the playful jibe, as she'd hoped he would, and a little of her own worries ebbed away.

'Two new workers?' Hal asked, leaning against the bar. The Garrison was barely a hive of activity at the moment, but it suited him just fine. Sometimes it was the lulls in the day that could bring out the worst in people. He was constantly on guard, one hand resting on his gun; his attention skittering around the place, only occasionally looking politely to Harry.

The landlord was cleaning a glass, but even out the corner of his eye, Hal could see the mild irritation crossing his face. 'Women,' he cursed, but there was no real harshness behind it.

'Better here than anywhere else,' noted Hal, his gaze darting quickly towards the back of the pub, where Grace had disappeared off to in the hopes of finding another rag to wipe up with. He had to admit, the Irishwoman was a pleasant addition to the place; she'd already brought a small smile to his face with a couple of jokes. A couple of digs at Harry whenever he cursed the small girl that had somehow weaselled her way into a room.

Harry heaved a deep sigh. There was a breath, a sound as though Harry were going to say something more, but he was cut off by someone forcing the doors open.

Instantly, Hal was up, gun raised and levelled at the place about where a man's chest would be. He let out a calming breath before the figure came into view.

'Fucking hell, Hal!' swore John, but there was a flicker of a smirk on his lips before his expression turned serious. 'Betting shop, now. Arthur needs us.'

Hal's blood turned to ice. He put the gun away and was across the pub in two long strides, clapping John on the shoulder.

Hal's blood was boiling. Any fear that he'd had previously had evaporated at the sight of Arthur's beaten face; at the tale that he told them as to why he'd ended up in that state. It was one thing for this new copper to come in and try shaking up the force that the Blinders had worked so hard to make useful to them. It was another entirely for him to go after Arthur like this.

Arthur groaned and Hal's hand flexed by his gun instinctively. A bully. That's all this guy was.

He got the irony of his emotions, of hating the guy because he was throwing his weight around, he just chose to ignore it.

'John, wipe the blood out of his eye,' said Ada, moving towards her brother.

John cast a sideways glance at Hal, a smirk curling his lips. 'Since when did you give orders?'

'I'm a trained nurse,' she reminded him as she walked around the table. Hal had to shift aside to let her pass.

'Don't make me laugh, it hurts me face,' teased Arthur as Polly tended to his broken thumb.

'So does looking at your face for us,' Hal countered, before shifting so that he was sat beside Arthur. The older Shelby moved to hit him but hissed in pain. Polly had to grab his shoulder to keep him still.

'I bloody am!' insisted Ada.

'You went to one first-aid class in the church hall,' John reminded her.

'And got thrown out for giggling,' Hal added, earning a sharp glare from Ada. But he merely shrugged it off; she still hadn't perfected Polly's daggers just yet.

'Not before I learnt how to stop somebody from choking.'

'I'm not bloody choking, am I?' reasoned Arthur, wincing slightly as Polly snipped the bandage, pulled his thumb a little as well.

Again, there was that flicker of anger inside Hal. How could someone do this? Arthur Shelby was a war hero. He deserved a bit of respect from a new copper. He certainly didn't deserve to get beaten up just to make a point that this guy wasn't messing around.

'You will be when I wrap this cloth round your neck,' Ada said simply, pouring more hot water out.

'Let me see him,' said Tommy, striding into the room.

In an instant, Hal was up off the seat, moved to stand beside John.

'All right, have this,' said Tommy, offering his brother a bottle.

Hal caught John's eye. He could see the tension in his friend's shoulders, knew that this was getting to him worse than it was Hal himself. If John had his way they'd probably already be down the station dealing with this. Dealing out smiles and threats that they wouldn't forget.

'We'll get 'em,' Hal said softly.

John merely nodded ever so slightly, his attention with his brothers.

'He said,' Arthur said, his hand gripping Tommy's arm, 'Mr. Churchill sent him to Birmingham. National interest, he said. Something about a robbery.'

Tommy moved away at those words, and Hal's attention slipped to Polly. There was something behind her eyes that told him there was more to all this than was being said.

If in doubt, Hal had learnt, look to Polly. She was like a Shelby lie detector.

'He said he wants us to help him,' said Arthur.

'We don't help coppers,' noted John.

'Too right,' mumbled Hal as Ada squeezed between them.

'He knew all about our war records,' noted Arthur.

'And he still pulled this crap?' Hal indicated to Arthur's face. Felt the irritation bubbling up again like a sheering heat.

'He said we're patriots… like him,' Arthur continued, bobbing his head ever so slightly. 'He wants us to be his eyes and ears. I said –'

Arthur groaned as Polly pulled his bandage a little tighter.

'I said,' Arthur went on, his voice taut with pain, 'we'd have a family meeting and take a vote.'

A long silence filled the room. Hal felt on edge. There were enough police that they could watch out for themselves. It wasn't like they helped with anything else, he'd found that out the hard way. And yet…

'Well, why not? Hmm?' Arthur asked, his attention trained on Tommy. 'We've no truck with Fenians or communists.'

Another long pause. This time, Hal turned to John but his attention was on Tommy, as if trying to figure out what it was that remained unsaid.

'What's wrong with you?' Arthur's voice raised ever so slightly in irritation. He turned to Polly. 'What the fuck is wrong with him lately?!'

'If I knew,' said Polly simply, 'I'd buy the cure from Compton's Chemists.'

Hal couldn't stop the scoff from escaping him, but he shrank at a raised eyebrow from Polly. Whatever was going on, they needed to deal with it soon before it became something of a bigger problem for them.

'That's the new barmaid?' John asked as they entered the Garrison. Even from outside they'd been able to hear the singing, and there was a kind of comfort in it that Hal hadn't realised they needed. His irritation from earlier waned ever so slightly. Not enough to be forgotten, but enough for him to get lost in the sound of Grace's voice.

'Yeah,' he said, shifting his cap. 'That's her.'

Silence filled the pub when she was done, only broken by Harry walking over to the Blinders.

'We haven't had singing in here since the War,' he noted, and Hal could see the small smile on his face, knew that this meant more to him that he'd admit to Thomas Shelby.

'Why'd you think that is, Harry?' Tommy asked simply.

Harry didn't say anything, and Hal had to admit that he felt bad for the guy. All he was trying to do was bring a bit of cheer into their lives. God knew they needed it.

But of course, that wasn't the way Tommy wanted it. He pushed himself away from the column he'd been leaning on and headed towards the snug.

Hal shot a small smile to Grace before following the others, really hoping that she might just win Tommy Shelby over, and that the Garrison might be able to have some singing again to brighten all their days.

Stan felt the warmth of the sun on his neck as he bent to curl the rope around his arm. Charlie had, thankfully, offered Luce some work with the boats. The way her eyes had lit up made Stanley think of Finn at Christmas, but he shook the thought from his head. Because today, Luce had basically been banned. The yard was needed. Tommy needed it, and that meant everything else stopped.

But, as he straightened to carry the rope across the yard, he spotted the familiar flame of red hair bobbing through the piles of scrap. His heart thundered, fear prickled down the back of his neck, and in an instant all his work was undone, uncurling on the floor as he dashed towards the new girl.

'Luce, what're you doing here?' His voice was slightly strained, even to his own ears.

'I thought I'd see if I could help,' she said, sounding innocent. But there was a flicker of something behind her eyes. A flicker that he'd seen the day they'd found the guns.

_Intrigue_.

'Lucinda, seriously, not today.'

She opened her mouth to argue, and yet no words came out as two figures walked solemnly around the corner. In an instant, Stanley recognised them. Tommy and Danny.

'Seriously, Luce –'

'Who're they?' she asked, taking a step forwards.

Stan caught her arm, drawing her attention back towards him. 'Luce, get away from here, now. You don't deal with him.'

She furrowed her brow, her attention remaining on the duo though, never once straying from them as if she might be able to work their secrets out from here.

'That's your brother!' she said after a moment, her voice slightly too loud for comfort.

Stanley hastily hushed her, shifted so that he was in her line of sight. 'And he's got business here. So _go_.' There was something almost imploring behind his voice that momentarily distracted her from the scene, drew her gaze firmly to him.

'Do they need a boat?'

'Luce,' Stanley said, but it was too late.

Luce ducked aside as Stan lifted a hand to try and pull her back. But she was too fast, and his moment of shock was all it took for her to get a good head start on him.

But he was off after her as soon as he'd recovered, hissing her name in the hopes of not attracting too much attention. He tried not to look at Tommy and Danny, tried not to think about the other two people watching on from the other side of the canal, grim satisfaction written all over their posture.

Luce stumbled to a stop a short distance away from them, just as tommy levelled the gun at the base of Danny's skull.

Stanley faltered. There wasn't time to take it all in before the shot rang out. Before the body fell.

Luce's hands jumped to her mouth, stifling something that sounded very much like a squeak. It was only as Stan caught her, stopped her from properly collapsing to the floor, that he realised there was no splash. Charlie's boat had caught the body.

Bile rose in his throat, but he focused on steadying Luce.

'Who the fuck is this?' asked Tommy, voice hard as he rounded on them; as his cold blue eyes snapped to Luce's trembling form.

'Don't matter,' Stanley said, holding her a little closer. 'Honestly Tom, she doesn't…'

'Hey.' Tommy's voice was suddenly soft, as if he were talking to a spooked horse. He crouched in front of Luce, his eyes level with hers. There was something about him that commanded attention, and even in her shocked state Luce somehow managed to look up at him. 'It's not real.'

Stan felt his heart thundering against his ribs, threatening to break free.

'You shot him,' she managed to whisper, broken only by a sob.

'What'd you mean, Tommy?'

Tommy's attention shifted to his brother. 'Get her out of here. Where's she live?'

Stanley was silent as he helped Luce to her feet; as he hugged her a little closer. He knew what his brothers did to people who saw things they shouldn't.

'I'll take her there,' Stanley said, trying to force as much conviction behind his voice as possible.

Tommy's attention shifted back to Luce. 'You'll be all right,' he said, before standing and walking away.

Stanley let out a tense breath, but he knew that this was far from over. Eventually, Tommy would talk to him – or use other ways of finding out what exactly Luce knew.

His concerns were distracted as he felt Luce lean heavily against him. He had to get her out of there, that much he knew for certain. And so, with his own weakened knees threatening to work against him, he gently guided her towards the entrance of the boatyard, determined to get her back to the Garrison, knowing that at least there she might have a little cover.

Luce's nerves were shot. She'd spent the day in her room, much to the mild grumbling of Harry. But Stanley had shot him a look; Grace had spoken to him, and the complaints died. She'd wanted to go exploring, wanted to see the city, but everywhere she looked she saw Thomas Shelby shooting that man in cold blood.

That was why she'd asked Stanley to leave her alone. Why she'd waited until darkness gripped the city before she slowly crept down the stairs of the Garrison. The place was silent, almost eerily so, but it was what she needed.

Birmingham was no longer safe. She'd explore elsewhere, find another place on the map that might hide the ghosts. Barely a week and already a new city had ghosts to bury.

A single candle flickered in the main room of the pub. A figure sat hunched a the bar, cap pulled low over their head. Luce's heart hammered against her ribs. She felt her chest tighten.

But, when they turned, she wasn't faced with the cool, icy gaze of Thomas Shelby. Instead, she looked at the concerned expression on Stan's face and felt her knees buckling again.

She gripped the railing, refusing to fall.

Stan's eyes surveyed her, taking the pack on her shoulder and the fact that she hadn't bothered to retie her hair.

'You're leaving?' he asked, and she could hear the note of disappointment behind his voice.

'How are you OK with what we saw?' Her voice was barely more than a desperate whisper. She wanted to know how he was coping. How he could be so calm about the whole thing. Perhaps if she knew that she could bury her own ghosts. Head home…

_No_. There was no bringing Sy back. The War had made sure of that.

'I'm not,' he told her, a slight squeak to his voice that drew her closer to him. She found it easy to make the trip across the pub, to settle gratefully on the stool beside him.

'Why'd he do it?'

'I don't know,' admitted Stanley heavily.

Luce sucked in a deep breath, heard the weak sob behind it.

'Did he put the guns there?'

'I don't know.'

Luce heaved a sigh and gently hit her head on the bar. The cool metal top was a welcome relief.

She felt a hand placed carefully, tentatively, on her back. She tensed, but she didn't shake it off.

'Please don't go,' Stanley said, voice so soft she almost missed the plea. 'You've seen barely any of Birmingham.'

Despite everything, despite her fear, her desire to run as far away from the Shelbys as she could, Luce couldn't help but scoff. She tilted her head on the bar so that she was looking up at him. 'And you're gonna show me?'

Steel seemed to form behind Stan's eyes as he nodded firmly.

She let out a breath, the sound could have been a laugh or a sob, she wasn't certain. But for some reason the look behind his eyes made it harder to leave. Made it harder for her to firm her resolve about leaving the city behind.

Because, after all, he was right. She'd barely seen any of the city, and that was exactly what she intended to do. Thomas Shelby be damned…

Well, perhaps.


	2. Chapter Two: The Horse With No Name

Hal drove with Stan in silence; he could see that the boy needed time to think, wanted to be lost in his own thoughts for a little while. That didn't stop the slight concern from rising inside Hal's chest though. Something was wrong. Usually, Stanley was happy to go to fairs, and the idea of getting a new horse would have excited him; would have turned him into a babbling mess that always made Hal grin. Today, he was on edge, his thoughts obviously far away from the job at hand.

Perhaps he should have sat this one out. After all, it would be another horse that they were using to build a reputation on. Another horse that would help with the side of business they so often tried to keep Stanley away from. That he had purposefully distanced himself from.

But, as they pulled closer to the camp, Hal cursed, startling Stan back to the present.

'Is that the Lee family?' Stanley asked, curiosity obvious behind his voice, and the barest trace of fear.

'Yeah, it is,' said Hal, stopping the car and jumping out. Tommy and the others were slowly getting out of the family car ahead of them; John's own irritation showed in the tense line of his shoulders. Only Tommy seemed confident that this was the right place.

But of course he did. This was obviously part of his plan.

'Tommy!' Johnny greeted as Hal made his way towards the others. Stan hovered behind, sticking close to the car where Finn was still sitting in the back.

'Johnny Dogs,' said Tommy around a cigarette.

John shot a quick look to Hal. His friend was jittery, his attention skimming around the camp. Despite his own reservations, Hal rested a hand briefly on his shoulder before focusing back on the camp, on the possible threats.

'Tommy, how the hell are ya?' Johnny Dogs asked, striding up the hill to meet them.

'All the better for getting the city smoke out of me lungs,' Tommy said, shaking the other man's hand.

'I thought you became a bit too grand for us,' noted Johnny Dogs, and it was only then that Hal spotted the white stallion being led towards them. The rest of the camp seemed unbothered by the fact that the Shelbys were there. In fact, they were going about their daily business, as if they hadn't even noticed the family were there. Other than the kid leading the horse towards them.

Instinctively, Hal glanced over his shoulder. With Stan and Finn so close by, the proximity of the Lees was more than a vague threat; one he couldn't dismiss as easily as he would have liked. He could feel himself stiffening. He shifted his hat a little, unsure of what to do with his hands. Tommy had said to leave guns back home. Hal felt naked without the familiar weight.

'Oh, I've been busy,' said Tommy as they started walking away from the cars. He glanced briefly over his shoulder and nodded almost imperceptibly.

A few moments later, Stanley was hurrying over to his brother and the white stallion. The boy looked paler than normal, but there was the familiar Shelby steel behind his eyes. He knew the threat, and he was trying his best to ignore it somehow. But Hal had spotted the thin sheen of sweat on the kid's brow.

Once again, Hal's hands shifted the peak of his hat; felt for the familiar cold metal of his razors.

'The Lee family?' Hal asked John, this time his own attention skittering over the camp. He was looking for any signs of possible attack, but so far he saw none. So far, it was as if some kind of truce had been reached for the sale of the horse. 'First the powder trick, now this. What's he up to?'

'I dunno,' John admitted.

Hal's hand shifted to where his gun would be as they moved closer to where the Lees had set up camp. They were close to the water, boiling a teapot over a fire. As soon as they heard Tommy's voice they glared over their shoulders before turning back to their tea. But they were suddenly on edge, tense shoulders and hands darting to concealed weapons.

'What's he playing at?' grumbled Arthur, but he still didn't intervene. He was letting Tommy deal with this.

Hal merely shrugged, again cast his eye over the camp. He had a bad feeling about all this. Part of him wanted to be back at the Garrison. While there was no longer Danny Whizzbang to worry about, there was that new kid, Lucinda. The one who had seen the whole thing. The one that Stan had vouched for, but Tommy still wanted an eye kept on. Just in case.

'So, this is the horse?' asked Tommy, moving around the stallion carefully.

'And that's the car,' noted Johnny Dogs before heading to the family one.

Despite it all, Hal let out a small breath of relief. Not his car. Nonetheless, he shifted a little closer to the vehicles, making sure that he could see Finn.

'What do you think?' he heard Tommy ask. They all knew that Tommy knew horses, but there wasn't a time when he wasn't trying to encourage Stan's eagerness to understand them. This little trip was about more than just the horse. It was about easing some of Stanley's concerns about the family business. About making up for what had happened in the boatyard.

'He's well,' Stanley said, and there was no hiding the awe behind his voice.

'Hang on a minute,' said Arthur, shattering the calm. 'You are not swapping the family car for a bloody horse.'

'Of course we're not swapping it,' said Johnny Dogs, walking over a little quicker than he'd walked away, eager to stop the brewing argument. 'Huh? That would be mad.'

Hal's attention skimmed back to where Tommy and Stan were examining the horse. It was as if nothing else in the world mattered. As if it were only the two of them and the horse.

'We're gonna play two-up,' Tommy said, patting Stanley on the shoulder and rejoining them. He got out a coin, moved to stand beside Johnny Dogs.

'How often does this work again?' Hal asked John in a low whisper. But his friend's attention was on the coins as they flipped in the air. As they turned over and over before finally hitting the floor.

They crouched, picked them up and spat on them before shaking on the deal. Whatever the deal was.

'Here ya are,' said Tommy, handing over the keys. Hal had never been happier to have his own car, but he wasn't looking forward to them all crowding into it on the way back.

'I knew it! I knew it,' said Arthur, irritation colouring his voice. 'Tommy, you bloody idiot.'

'Shut up, Arthur, I won.'

'Right,' said Arthur, deflated, obviously as confused as the rest of them.

'I promised Johnny I'd let him have a spin in the car if he lost,' elaborated Tommy. He patted Johnny on the shoulder and nodded towards the car.

'All right,' said Arthur, sounding almost appeased by the revelation.

But the Lee boys were laughing, and in an instant Hal's attention was on them. He glanced only briefly out the corner of his eye. Spotted Stanley's movements of checking the horse freeze.

'Are you Lee boys laughing at my brother?' asked Tommy, stalking closer to them.

Instinctively, Hal moved a little closer to Stanley. Moved so that he was blocking the younger Shelby from the Lee boys. At least Finn was safely tucked away in the backseat of the family car.

'Are ya?' Tommy said as the Lees stopped laughing, as they started walking up the small hill to meet Tommy. 'Eh?'

'Tommy,' came the peaceable voice of Johnny Dogs. 'Tommy.'

'I asked you a question!'

'Tommy, come on, it's just the craic…'

Hal shot a quick look to John, to Arthur. The two of them were ready for a fight. His own instincts craved the action, but he knew what they needed him to do. If anything started happening, he was to get Finn and Stan out of there. No discussion.

Johnny started saying something in Romani that Hal couldn't translate.

'Yeah, but his mother was a Didicoy whore,' noted one of the Lees.

The world seemed to move in slow motion. The words were barely out of the guy's mouth before Tommy took his cap off. Before he slashed at the man's face, sending him to the ground. Arthur and John were there in an instant; caps and fists flying.

'Get to the car, Stan,' Hal said, turning to the younger boy. But Stanley Shelby was already rushing that way, already catching Finn before he could try getting involved. Hal hovered by the horse for a moment longer, wanting to help but knowing that now wasn't the time for that. No matter how badly he might have wanted it. Craved it.

The Shelbys had the situation as under control as they wanted it, and he would just have to make sure that the younger boys and the horse were safe for the journey home.

Luce sat huddled on her bed. The yard had been quiet without Stanley, but part of her was grateful for the quiet; even if she continuously looked over her shoulder. Constantly felt as though someone might just put a bullet in her for seeing something that she hadn't. There'd been whispers of similar things happening back in Camden; whispers that Sy always tried to divert her attention away from. Now, those fears crept up her spine, refusing to be ignored.

But it had given her time to think. Time to plan where she was going to explore. Not the city, not yet. She'd taken herself off to one of the small villages, explored it with a kind of calmness that she hadn't felt for a while. She'd nodded to a small boy before an older boy ushered him away; a small smile on his own face.

A ruckus outside pulled her thoughts away from the day, away from her pathetic musings as a way of distracting herself from the fears of the Shelbys. She furrowed her brow and shifted to get a look out of the window. Mounted police were riding by, some knocking on doors before hurrying into houses and unceremoniously pulling people out of them. They beat people against walls if they tried to argue.

Luce felt her stomach knotting. It didn't make sense. Were they looking for the dead man?

She shook the thought from her head. That couldn't be it. Surely that couldn't be it.

Part of her longed to go outside, to question what was happening. But another part of her was terrified that they might just take her away, either to make her disappear or to send her back home. Neither option really filled her with joy.

Oddly, as she curled herself back onto the bed, some of Sy's words came back to her. Another letter, one from when he'd just finished training. Words that had filled her with such a sense of longing, of adventure, that it now twisted her insides to think of.

_We head out tomorrow. We'll be on our way to Rouen and then from there somewhere else. No one's said where yet, but there's whispers of Belgium._

_I was hopeful for somewhere in Italy – could have got you some nice tartufo. Not that it would have lasted, but it is the thought that counts. Maybe one day we'll go. See it in better circumstances. If you were here, we'd probably have already snuck off to Italy. Already be exploring even when we shouldn't be._

_How are you fairing without your external curiosity-restraint, I wonder?_

Luce nuzzled her head against the pillow as if she might be able to block the letters from her thoughts, the noises of brutality from her ears. It was just another reminder of how much had changed; how much she wished that Birmingham would help wash away those memories.

So far though, it had done very little to help. In fact, she was beginning to wonder if it wasn't making things worse.

But she couldn't just run this time. Stanley was here, a familiar face now that she couldn't quite let go of. A friend that she'd needed.

With a sigh, she stuck one arm under her pillow and tried to get at least a little sleep. Perhaps there she might find some peace.

Stan had been looking forward to getting home, to spending a little time with the horse. He couldn't shake the words that the Lees had said though, the way his brothers had reacted. Part of him had wanted to make the Lees take the words back, but it hadn't filled him with the same kind of rage as the others. He hadn't felt the need to lash out like they had, and that always made him wonder…

His thoughts shifted from the events of the day and towards the streets that looked as though they were piecing themselves together again after a fight. After a war.

'What the hell happened here?' he asked.

'Not a fucking clue,' said Hal, easing the car up behind Tommy's. 'But it ain't gonna stand.'

'No, I suppose it won't,' murmured Stan, easily deciding that this was one family meeting he might just have to sit in on before he went to check on Luce. He'd half contemplated inviting her to the fair, but he'd seen the haunted look behind her eyes after he'd walked her home. Seen the fear that still lingered in her posture when he'd caught her before she could run off.

And, after what had happened, he was grateful he hadn't found the courage to extend that particular hand of friendship to her. He thought it might actually scare her off, and he didn't want that.

They didn't get their answers until they were finally home. Until they were finally crowded into the kitchen. Stanley stood in the doorway, as if still contemplating walking away, going to check on the horse and leaving this kind of thing to the rest of his family. But this couldn't be family business. Surely this wasn't just because they'd pissed someone off. It had to be something else; or at least, that's what Stan kept trying to tell himself. To reassure himself that he wasn't finally stepping over a line that he wasn't prepared to cross yet.

One he never thought he would cross.

'The coppers told everyone Arthur had agreed to it when he was arrested,' Aunt Pol explained, the calm fury obvious behind her voice. 'They said the Peaky Blinders had cleared out to the fair to let them do it.'

John handed Tommy a glass of beer. He quirked an eyebrow at Stan, but he shook his head. He never bothered to ask Hal, just handed him a glass of heated water.

'I never said nothing to that copper about smashing up bloody houses,' defended Arthur angrily.

'All right,' soothed Tommy. 'Which pubs did they do?'

'The Guns, the Chain, the Marquis. All the ones that pay you to protect them,' said Aunt Polly as she lit a cigarette.

'What about the Garrison?' asked Stanley, panic gnawing away at him.

'They didn't touch it,' Aunt Pol said, and Stanley let out a soft sigh of relief. He spotted the looks that both Tommy and Hal shot him, but ignored them. 'Make sure people think we were in on it. He's smart, this copper.

'So, go on. Drink your beers, get out. You better show people you're still the cocks of the walk.' There was no room for argument when Aunt Polly was giving orders, and some of the Blinders were already discarding their tankards before she'd even finished.

'Hand out some cash to the landlords of the pubs,' said Tommy. 'Pay some veterans to fix the places up.'

'Oi, Nipper. Give us the bag,' John said, moving to where Finn was sitting. He'd been so quiet Stan had almost forgotten that he'd been allowed to sit in on this meeting as well.

'So, what about you, Tommy?' asked Arthur.

'I have to, er, to go to Charlie's to stable the horse.'

'Can't Stan do it?' asked John, shooting a quick look to Hal. An amused smirk passed between the two of them.

Stanley sneered at them before looking back to Tommy.

'Gotta learn how to do it properly sometime,' Tommy said. But there was something intense about the look he shot Stan. As if, even if Stan reminded his brother that he'd done it once or twice when they were away, it wouldn't matter. There was more to this little trip than the others could know.

Which meant, they needed to have a conversation about Luce. About what Tommy wanted to do about her.

'He did look foot-sore in the box,' Stanley noted, trying to calm his nerves. Tommy was his big brother for crying out loud. But that didn't matter. He'd just seen the three elder Shelby brothers fight because someone had insulted their mother. He didn't want to think what accidentally seeing a murder might mean. What wrath it might incur.

Arthur looked between the two of them for a moment before he turned his back and started out after the others.

'Let them see your faces,' Aunt Polly said. 'Stan, love, go make sure Finn doesn't run off without one of the others.'

Stanley glanced between Aunt Pol and Tommy, wondering just what exactly was going on, but he shrugged it off. Family business. The side of things that he really didn't care for.

'See you at the stables, Tom,' he said, before following the others out, carefully closing the doors behind him. He half wondered if he could head to warn Luce, but there was no time, and heading to the Garrison with everything that had already happened wouldn't look great either. There was no way that he could do that to his family, no matter how much he might have wanted to.

Tommy never came to the yard. He sent Finn to hastily tell Curly to stable the horse; to remind him that Stanley was there if he needed help.

There was no mention of Luce in the message at all, and Stanley wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse. Wasn't sure if he should let out a sigh of relief or give in to the worry that was threatening to overwhelm him.

_She's a kid_, he told himself firmly, repeating it like a mantra as he stabled the horse alongside Curly. _Tommy wouldn't hurt her just because she saw something._

And yet, the words felt more and more hollow each time.

It was for that reason, and that reason alone that he hurried to the Garrison as soon as he was done. He strode up the stairs two at a time, brushing off the questions from Harry.

As he reached the landing, Stanley paused. He had no idea which room was hers. If she was even still going to be there.

The knot of anxiety tightened painfully in his chest.

'Luce?' he asked softly, taking careful steps along the hallway, pausing near each of the doors. 'Luce, you in?'

His heart hammered against his chest. Surely this wasn't why Tommy hadn't come. Surely –

The door to his right was pulled open, startling him. His attention snapped that way, but a little of his concerns fell away as soon as he realised that it was only Luce. Her red hair fell in waves over her shoulders, somehow seeming brighter with the darkness of the window behind her. There were dark circles under her eyes, but the slight lift of her chin assured him she was fine. Or at least that she was trying her best to seem it.

'What're you doing here?' she asked, tilting her head curiously to one side.

'What?' he asked, a feeling of mild dread unfurling in his chest. Had Tommy tried to scare her off?

A flicker of a smile doused the concerns in an instant. 'Something's happening outside,' she said, before slipping passed him, looping her arm through his and dragging him with her.

And he let himself be pulled away, let her lead him because at least then he knew that she'd be all right.

At least, he hoped she would be.

'What's going on?' Luce asked, speeding up a little as she spotted the flickering of flames in the middle of the street.

'It's nothing,' Stanley said, hurrying to catch up with her.

Luce looked at him, raised an eyebrow. 'You don't do this kind of thing for nothing,' she said, her excitement mounting. She still looked to the sky though, still had to check that there were no passing Zeppelins overhead, even though she knew the days of those attacks were long gone. That she was far from the city that had constantly been a target.

Stanley looked conflicted, as if he wanted to head back already, but there was a flicker of curiosity behind his eyes.

After a moment, he sighed, obviously realising that no matter how deep seated her fears of his brother were, she wasn't going to let them get in the way of her own adventures.

'Come on,' he said, moving a little ahead of her. 'Just… let me do the talking.'

'Whatever you say, Mr. Shelby,' she said, hurrying to catch up with him, looping her arm through his when she was finally beside him.

She felt him stiffen slightly at the title. She was about to slip her arm away when he looped his a little tighter around hers.

They wound their way closer to the bonfire, towards the cars that were blocking the road. People stood near cars, cast curious looks between the two of them. But, as soon as Stanley looked back them they turned their attention away. Luce's stomach knotted slightly. She'd seen that reaction before. Seen people looking way from Sy when turf wars were rife. Not that she'd understood it all then.

But now, now she understood the power of a gang. Of the kinds of people who were part of them. The impact that a family name could have.

She shook her head ever so slightly. The bonfire in the middle of the road was a sight that she'd not seen in London. At the very least, not for a long time.

Already there was a crowd around it. People were jeering at the flames as they licked pictures of the King, something she only realised the closer they got to the bonfire. Even as she watched, more people were throwing their pictures in, mumbling darkly about all the things the King had done wrong.

But there, at the front, she spotted Thomas Shelby. He was standing amongst men who could only be family. They were too at ease with him. Too sure of themselves. And, they were at the heart of it all.

'You can go to them, if you want,' she said softly, her attention moving back to Stanley. But his gaze was on the fire, on one of the pictures that was curling in the heat, the flames scorched the frame.

Stan shook his head ever so slightly. 'Not my business,' he said simply. 'I just deal with the horses.'

'Move back folks,' said someone, ushering people away from Tommy and someone Luce didn't recognise. The stranger looked uneasy, and she couldn't really blame him.

Someone bumped into Stan, turned to say something at him angrily, but the comment died before it reached their lips.

'Sorry, Mr. Shelby,' they said, before hurrying away.

Stanley opened his mouth but they were already too far away. He heaved a sigh. 'Welcome to my world.'

She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. 'At least there's a new horse to look after,' she said, shooting him a winning smile when he looked towards her. He hadn't been able to stop telling her about the horse before they found the fire. His eyes lit with every new thing he thought of to share.

Stan scoffed, but his attention wavered. His brow furrowed ever so slightly. The look lasted all of a moment before he nodded. 'What do you know about horses?'

Luce turned her attention back to the fire, to the flames that were making easy work of the images. 'Nowhere near as much as people assume,' she admitted.

'Get out,' Stan said, sounding outraged.

'It's true,' she said softly, watching the flames dance. It was one of the things she'd leant to miss in the beginning. Light at night. A city encompassed in darkness was hell to her now. This fire was a blessing, no matter what the reason for it. 'I always did better with the boats.'

'So you lived near the coast?'

'Not even close,' Luce said softly, her eyes focused on the flames, on the patterns that they were burning into things. The irreparable damage they were causing. 'Just… I do better with boats.'

Stanley led the horse around the yard for Tommy. He knew that Luce was by the water, making sure that the boats were ready, but that didn't stop him from worrying. He still hadn't managed to speak to his brother about what they'd seen; what he'd meant when he said it wasn't real. The questions kept bubbling up to the surface, he just hadn't been able to give them voice yet.

'Get me down a Spanish saddle, Curly,' Tommy said as the other man arrived nearby.

'Yes, Tom, a Spanish saddle,' Curly said, before hurrying away.

Tommy lingered for a moment, taking a drag of his cigarette, before coming over to the horse. Stanley gently handed over the rein, allowed his brother to guide the horse after Curly, who was already hurrying off.

'He's a beauty, Tom. Yeah, yeah, beautiful, yeah, yeah,' Curly was saying as he disappeared.

'What do you think?' Tommy asked as they walked, and Stanley felt his attention drifting. He wondered where Luce was, what she'd do if she realised that the two of them were there. 'Stan?'

'Sorry, what Tom?' Stanley asked, scrubbing a hand across his forehead. 'Oh. Front right. I'm –'

'A fine beast you got there, Thomas,' said Charlie, cutting the conversation short. Stanley's attention instantly found the other man. He was sat at the table, not looking over at them. 'But is he worth falling out with the Lee family over?' He put a bullet on the table, and suddenly it was as if the world had tilted beneath Stan.

He took a step, but Tommy put a hand out, held him back before walking to Charlie alone.

'Just passing it on,' noted Charlie, a hint of regret behind his voice that made Stanley's chest clench.

Tommy picked up the bullet, and Stanley could tell from the tension in his shoulders that this was exactly what he'd feared it was. A bullet with Tom's name on it.

'A declaration of war – the whole Lee clan,' said Charlie.

'Shit,' cursed Stanley, resting a hand on the muzzle of the horse, using it to anchor himself. He refused to let the fear in. Especially with how calm Tommy currently seemed to be.

'The guns and now this.'

Tommy dropped into the seat across from Charlie. His attention momentarily flicked towards Stanley before he fixed his gaze on Charlie once more. 'The guns,' he said evenly, 'are not spoken of. Right?'

He sat for a moment longer before standing, shooting Stanley a look that assured him they were going to deal with the whole thing later.

'Tommy, Tommy,' said Charlie, standing up as Tommy walked back to Stan. But Stan's attention was caught by Curly, who was already putting the saddle on the horse. He was mumbling away excitably, and it was only then Stanley realised that Luce was there, her red hair bright against the dinginess of the shed behind her.

'Curly said there was a stallion I had to see,' she said softly, but her attention flicked towards Charlie and Tommy.

'You can see him later,' Stanley assured her, but she was shaking her head before he'd even finished.

'It's all right,' she said, though her voice was slightly more brittle than Stan could remember.

'You want to ride, Stan?' Tommy asked, pulling Stan's attention towards him. But his brother was looking at Luce, as if trying to work out how much she'd heard.

'Na, I'll do the next one,' Stanley said, shooting his brother a small smile.

'It's Thomas Shelby against the whole bloody world, right?' asked Charlie as Tommy expertly pulled himself up onto the horse.

He lingered only a moment before trotting off, leaving Stanley to wonder if he was ever going to get the chance to properly talk to his brother about everything, or if it was just one of those things that would hang, unspoken, between them forever.

Hal lent against the bar, his attention skimming the empty pub. This was the kind of thing he'd been waiting for. The chance to do something proactive, to help with making sure people knew the Peaky Blinders were still protecting them, was something that he had enjoyed. Now, however, he was trying to find out information. Twice Lucinda had been too close to things. Tommy was beginning to think it was more than just a coincidence.

He hated the quietness of the place though. Even as Grace hummed softly. She hadn't sung since Tommy had cut her little moment short.

'You know, I think an empty pub doesn't count,' Hal said softly, idly flicking a deck of cards, shuffling them for something to do. Despite Grace's offer, he hadn't actually drunk anything; but that didn't stop him needing to do something with his hands.

'It's not empty if you're sat there,' said Grace simply, her lilting Irish accent bringing a soft smile to Hal's face. His mother had had a similar accent to that.

He pushed the memory aside; stilled the cards.

'There's a redhead with rooms here now, isn't there?' he asked, deciding that he may as well try instead of waiting for the right opening.

'Why?' asked Grace, causing Hal to look at her quickly. 'Luce is a good kid.'

'Then why's she here?' countered Hal.

Grace was silent for a moment, and Hal wasn't sure if she didn't know the answer, or if she was still weighing up if she should tell him or not.

'She needed a job, didn't she?' Hal guessed. The girl had been here longer than Grace, but no one ever saw her in the bar during the evenings. It was as if she didn't exist in the daylight hours; but he knew she was at Charlie's, knew that she was helping keep Stanley a little company. 'And rooms.'

'I don't know,' said Grace simply, moving to gather some more of the glasses.

'But she's not here now,' Hal noted.

Grace looked at him curiously. For one moment he had the horrible feeling that he was being surveyed, that she was trying to riddle him out.

'You could just speak with her,' Grace reasoned before moving further into the pub to collect glasses; leaving Hal to contemplate what exactly had brought a kid like Lucinda to a city like Birmingham, and how many more times she was going to get herself mixed up in Shelby business.

Stan's heart thundered against his chest. He wanted nothing more than to not have this conversation, to ignore it in the hopes that it might just go away. He'd been delaying it as much as he could, but he was slowly beginning to realise that it wasn't that simple. Luce would keep running into the Shelbys because he'd suggested the Garrison. Because he'd spoken to Charlie about giving her a chance. It was his fault that she was still in Small Heath.

His fault that she'd seen Danny Whizzbang shot in what appeared to be cold blood. His fault that they'd found the guns, which he was beginning to feel had something to do with Tommy.

'Tom?' he asked softly, gently knocking on his brother's door. 'Can I have a word?'

He waited for a moment, idly scratched the back of his neck, and half wondered if Tommy wasn't already asleep.

A moment before Stan could actually give up, his brother pulled open the door. The weary circles of a long day clung beneath his eyes, but other than that he looked almost wired.

It was unusual for Stanley to knock on his door. Even more so for it to be in the middle of the night.

'It's about the other day,' he said.

Tommy motioned him into the room and carefully closed the door behind them. 'About what you and Lucinda Turner saw with Danny, or what you saw in the stable?'

Stan's attention snapped to catch his brother's eye. But Tommy's gaze was on the cigarette he was lighting. It seemed as though it were the most interesting thing in the world, something that required all the attention Tommy could muster. Then, once it was lit, Tommy finally raised his eyes ever so slightly to meet Stan's.

'Charlie told me the two of you had been snooping around that old stable. Said he saw a crowbar on the floor.'

'I suggested we go there,' Stan said quickly. 'I didn't think there'd be _guns_ there. Tommy, where'd we get them?' He could hear the note of panic behind his own voice but tried to ignore it.

'It doesn't matter,' Tommy dismissed before taking a long drag of his cigarette. He allowed the smoke to swirl in front of him, tendrils seemed to probe the air around him. And yet, he didn't deny that the guns were something to do with him. 'What was she doing at the yard the other day?'

'I don't know,' Stanley said before heaving a deep sigh. 'All three of us said she should go somewhere else. But…'

_But I think that only made her want to come more._

_I think she thought she might be helpful anyway._

_I think she was too curious to stay away._

Stan didn't know how exactly he'd wanted to finish that sentence. Not that it mattered, he was beginning to think that Tommy wasn't listening to him. Perhaps there was already too much going on for them to have this conversation. Perhaps Tommy really didn't care what she'd seen, after all, who was she going to tell that would believe her over the Shelbys?

'What did you mean when you said it wasn't real?' Stanley asked before he really thought about it. The words had been circling his thoughts for a while, and he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He'd seen the haunted look behind Luce's eyes, even in the dim firelight of the bonfire. If he could help ease that, even a little, he'd try to.

'Danny's alive,' Tommy said simply. 'I had to make it look good because the Italians were there.' He paused, took another long drag and slow exhale of the cigarette and it's smoke. 'But do you know what Danny's found in London already?'

Stanley shook his head. There was something about Tommy's voice that assured him this wasn't a good thing. That assured him there was something worse.

'Lucinda's a runaway,' Tommy said. 'Local shopkeeper's got her picture up and mentioned it to Danny when he went in. Even said her name.'

'But… Danny never saw her.'

'I told him to keep an eye out,' Tommy told him simply. 'She's Southern, and we got lucky.'

'Charlie told you everything, didn't he?'

'Of course he did.' Tommy put his cigarette out and put one hand on Stanley's shoulder. 'But she thinks Danny is dead, so she can't do anything with that.'

'She doesn't know about the guns either, not really,' Stanley said quickly, his words coming out in a rush, desperate to be given voice. 'We only spotted them. Anyone could've put them there.'

Tommy gave his brother's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 'She doesn't know they were stolen,' he said simply. There was something almost soft behind his eyes. Something that reminded Stan of the young man he'd been before France. The one who dreamt, who laughed, who did terrible voices when he was telling stories. 'I hear a peep though –'

'You mean it, Tom?' Stan asked, trying not to sound too relieved.

Tommy merely nodded. Stanley put his hand over his brother's. Perhaps things weren't going to be so bad after all. He just had to hope that he could keep Luce away from any more of the business.

Easier said than done, he supposed.

It was the sound of his brother's name that woke Stanley. The panic behind the name alerted him to something and he was up in an instant. He hauled the door of his room open and came face-to-face with his brother.

'Wait here,' Tommy said, before hurrying down the stairs.

For once, Stanley found that he couldn't listen. After their conversation earlier he'd been given a new outlook on things. He hurried after his brother, grabbing a coat as he went; shoving his feet awkwardly into shoes.

He'd recognised the voice. It was Curly, and that only meant one thing: the horse.

They ran through the rain, Tommy not mentioning that Stan hadn't listened. They were too focused on getting to the stables; on getting out of the rain again.

_His front right._ That was the thought that kept tumbling over itself in Stanley's head. The thing that he couldn't quite shake. Why hadn't they taken a better look at it before they headed out? Why hadn't he spoken up about it more when he first noticed?

Stan was the first one into the stable, and his breath caught. The horses' leg was tied up. He obviously couldn't put it on the floor.

In an instant, Tommy was there, checking the hoof.

Stanley's hands made their way down the horse's flank, trying to sooth it while Curly whispered, nuzzled its head. But the atmosphere in the stable changed. They all knew what this meant. They all knew what had to happen.

'Curly,' said Tommy softly, and Stan couldn't look at him, 'tell me.'

'It's a curse, Tom,' Curly said earnestly, before backing away.

Tommy followed him, calming the man as Stanley had seen him calm horses many times over the years. But this time he couldn't watch. This time his attention was on the horse with no name. The horse that he'd wanted to help train, wanted to help look after. He looked over the back and spotted Charlie. His own face was pale.

'So those Lee bastards cursed him,' said Tommy, his voice even, somehow breaking the spell that Stanley was under.

'What'd we do, Tom?' he asked, even though he knew the answer. The horse was meant for racing. They didn't have the time nor the resources for anything else.

And what other bad luck might a cursed horse bring to them?

'Whatever it is,' said Charlie, 'he says it's spread to the other feet.'

'It's going to his heart by tomorrow, I'd say,' Curly told them, and Stanley could see the toll the news was taking on his brother. Because this was more than just a horse to him. For all the terrible things Thomas Shelby was capable of, malicious violence to an animal was beyond him; especially when it came to horses. It was the one thing that the War hadn't changed.

'Seen curses like this twice. Can't take them back, Tom. No,' continued Curly, his voice rising in pitch.

'I told you, Tommy,' said Charlie. 'Better enemies to have than black-blood Gypsies.'

'Get out,' said Tommy.

'Get out, Curly,' said Charlie sharply, but not unkindly.

Stanley, however, stayed exactly where he was. His hands stilled on the horse's shoulder. He could feel the power of his muscles, felt the things that were being robbed from the poor horse all because the Lees had some vendetta against Tommy.

'You don't have to stay,' said Tommy, his eyes never once leaving the horse's.

'I do,' Stanley said, trying to steel himself for what came next. His heart beat out a terrified tattoo against his chest. He didn't want to be here, didn't want to know what came next. And yet, he couldn't let Tommy do this alone. Not this time. Not after everything else.

It took a second for his brother to nod. 'I'm sorry,' he said to the horse.

The shot echoed around the stables. It sounded far louder now that the rain had eased up, now that there wasn't the constant noise surrounding them. But the quiet was worse. The total lack of noise, other than their own breathing when it was done, horrendous.

Luce swept, moving in time to some long forgotten song that she'd danced to once. Dances were one of the things she missed from before the War. One of the things that had lost their appeal when people came back. It wasn't that her mother no longer held them, or they were no longer invited, it was more the fact that they had been irreparably altered because the people in them had changed. They were no longer the fun filled times she once remembered.

But, that didn't mean that she couldn't have her own little moments of dance.

'Are you pretending that broom's a handsome young suitor?' teased Grace.

'Of course,' she said, twirling herself around the thing. 'You could pretend that it was Thomas Shelby.'

Grace scoffed, but there was a look of irritation and something else on her face that Luce couldn't quite place.

Before she could ask anything else, a knocking on the door cut their calmness short.

'Go upstairs,' Grace said softly, slowly edging towards the door.

'What if it some thug?!' asked Luce, her voice slightly higher than she would have liked.

'I can handle it,' said Grace, a steel behind her voice that Luce had never heard before. 'Go.'

Luce shook her head firmly. She shifted her grip on the broom, brandished it like a terrible weapon.

She could see the desire to argue bubble up inside Grace, but the knocking remained insistent. With a sigh, the older woman went to open the doors.

'We're closed, Mr. Shelby,' Grace said, backing up into the pub. She was followed by none other than Thomas Shelby himself, and –

'Stan?' Luce asked, lowering the broom and hurrying over to him, trying her best to ignore his brother.

'Just get us a drink,' Tommy said, taking his hat off.

But Luce's attention was on her friend. He looked shaken, paler than normal. There was a faraway look in his eyes that she'd seen far too often after the War. It shook her slightly, and for a moment she wondered if she shouldn't leave them to it. Go hide in her room until things were all right again.

Or perhaps she should wait at the station. Try getting the first train to wherever caught her eye.

The tears brimming in Stan's eyes meant that that was impossible though. She gently wrapped an arm around his shoulders, guided him towards one of the seats and eased him into it.

'Shall we leave you alone?' Grace asked, and it was only then that Luce realised she was behind the bar, that Tommy had got his own way.

'It was horrible,' murmured Stan, drawing her attention back to him as Tommy pulled out the seat opposite his brother.

Luce gave Stan's knee a soft squeeze. 'It's all right.'

'Came here for company,' said Tommy simply, dropping into the seat. 'Where's Harry?'

'He took the night off. He went to the pictures,' said Grace, moving to join them as Tommy started pouring drinks. Luce could hear the gentle sound of liquid spilling into glasses, but she couldn't take her eyes off Stan. Off the fact that whatever had happened had shaken the both of them to the core.

_Shit_, she thought, realisation dawning on her. _The horse_.

She heard a glass pushed across the table. Stanley's attention shifted to it blankly, but he didn't move to take it.

'Come on,' she said softly, standing up and putting a hand on Stan's shoulder. 'You need sleep.' She glanced briefly at Tommy, her heart thundering, terrified that he was going to complain, that he was going to stop her from trying to help, but it was as if someone had sucked all the fight out of him.

She cast a quick look to Grace, who nodded her head almost imperceptibly.

'This way,' said Luce, holding out a hand for Stanley.

He looked at her blankly for a moment before he took her hand. He practically clung to it, let her lead him away from the others, away from the adults. She wanted him to deal with the grief in his own way, not however his brother thought they should be coping.

'It's all right,' she repeated as they headed up the stairs, as she saw the first of the tears make a trail down his cheek.

When they were in her room she hugged him close. He sobbed into the crook of her neck, grabbing at the back of her dress as if he might be able to force the memory away somehow. She rubbed small circles on his back, cooed softly as he let out all the tension that he'd been storing. She held him, even when her candle snuffed itself out because of the wind through the window. Even as the urge to light it flared within her.

And she kept hugging him tight even when his sobs settled and she realised that he had fallen asleep.

The singing from outside was a welcome sound. Hal didn't quite know how she managed it, but somehow Grace had persuaded Tommy to let the music back into the pub. It seemed to be doing wonders for morale.

Well, for most people's morale. There still seemed to be a kind of stain on Stan's soul. Even with the card game in full swing, his attention kept straying to Tommy.

'Who shuffled these cards?' complained John.

'Terms of play, John boy, terms of play,' countered Arthur, shooting a wink across the table at Hal.

'Go play snap with Finn,' snarled John.

'He's just sore he can't win that one either,' teased Hal, earning the merest ghosted smile from Stanley. The horse was still playing on his mind. But then, Hal could see the flicker of memory on Tommy's face too. Tom had seen death like that before, the killing of things considered a mercy. It never got easier, he just knew how to compose himself afterwards a little better. For Stan, this was all too new.

'Did you want whiskey as well?' Grace asked as she put the bucket of beer in the middle of the table. Expertly avoiding any of their hands.

'Na, just beer,' said Tommy simply.

'Why no whiskey, Tommy?' asked Arthur, not looking up from his hand though. 'Are you expecting trouble?'

Despite how it had always been Tommy running things, there had been a tip in the power balance recently. Hal couldn't pinpoint exactly when it had happened, but Arthur was fading out of the seat more and more. Sometimes, he didn't even seem to mind it. It was almost as though it were a relief not to think about it all.

Tommy didn't answer, he merely looked at his cards before putting them back down on the table.

The singing outside swelled.

'Jesus Christ, Tommy, what the hell made you let them sing?' asked John, the judgement behind his voice almost palpable.

'At least you ain't singing along,' Hal teased, earning a match thrown at his head. But it was worth it for the smirk that lifted the edge of Stanley's lips.

'They sound like they're strangling cats out there,' John went on, glancing quickly at the others, his attention lingering slightly on Stan, who was looking blankly at his own cards.

'All right,' said Arthur, drawing the focus back to the game at hand, 'twenty's to play. Come on.

'Now, what did make you change your mind though, Tommy? Mmm?' Arthur's attention followed Grace as she left the room.

'Yeah, I mean, it's about time, Tommy,' said John, leaning slightly further away from his brother.

'Time for what?'

'Oh, better cover your ears, young Stanley,' teased Hal. Beside him, Arthur shifted back in his seat, his arm running over the back of the chairs. He was completely at ease; it was a good thing to see.

John sniggered. 'Time you took yourself a woman,' he said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 'Then we just gotta sort these two out.' He waved a hand at Hal and Stan.

'Says any of yous,' complained Hal, but he heard the laughter behind his own voice.

'Oh no, you've got Cece, ain't ya?'

Hal didn't hesitate in throwing one of the coins from the centre of the table at his best friend. John, however, dodged it; a bright grin on his face.

'Just play the bloody hands,' said Tommy simply.

Arthur scoffed. 'You stay the way you are, Tommy. Remember what Dad used to say: "Fast women and slow horses –'

'Will ruin your life,' the other three Shelby boys chorused, Stanley's voice a mere mumble but there nonetheless.

'Coppers,' said John as a light filtered in through the window.

Tommy's expression dropped. 'No,' he said simply. It felt as though the temperature in the room dropped a couple of degrees. 'Stan, get out.'

'What?'

'Now,' Tommy snapped.

Stanley must have seen something in his brother's look because he stood up and edged towards the door. Hal's hand went to his gun instinctively. He felt the familiar weight of it in his hand, knew that it was fully loaded.

And then, the singing stopped.

'Holy shit, it's Billy Kimber,' came Harry's voice.

Hal mentally cursed. He really hoped that Stan had managed to get upstairs.

A brief silence.

'Is there any man here named Shelby?' asked an unfamiliar voice; Kimber himself, Hal guessed. There was too much certainty behind it, too much authority for it to be anyone else.

Then, a gunshot. The crowd shrieked.

Hal feared the worst. He moved, but Arthur put a pacifying hand on his arm, his attention straying to Tommy.

'Wait in here,' said Tommy softly, looking directly at Hal.

'I said,' Kimber repeated, 'is there any man here named Shelby?'

Another look, this time it was John who glanced to Hal, who made sure that he knew what he needed to do. Backup. That's what he was.

He nodded ever so slightly before the three Shelby brothers finally left the room.

'Harry, get these men a drink,' Tommy said. 'Everyone else, go home.'

Hal's nerves were on edge. He didn't want to be cooped up, didn't want to hear the pounding of footsteps as people did what Tommy said. He wanted to show Kimber that they weren't to be messed with, but he knew that there was a plan for that.

'I've never approved of women in pubs,' came Kimber's voice, setting Hal's teeth on edge, 'but when they look like that…'

'You said you wanted men called Shelby. You've got three of them,' said Tommy evenly.

'A'right, I'd never heard of ya, then I did hear of you, some little Didicoy razor gang. I thought to meself, so what?' said Kimber, every word out of his mouth was like fingernails down a blackboard. 'But then you fucked me over so now you have my undivided attention. By the way, which one am I talking to? Who's the boss?'

'Well, I'm the oldest,' said Arthur.

'Ha… clearly,' said Kimber bitterly.

'Are you laughing at my brother?' asked John, the threat obvious behind his voice.

'Right he's the eldest, you're the thickest.' Hal's grip tightened on his gun. 'I'm told the boss is called Tommy and I'm guessing that's you cos you're looking me up and down like I'm a fucking tart.'

'I wanna know what you want,' said Tommy simply.

'There were suspicious betting patterns at Kempton Park,' said another voice, posher, only a notch less annoying. 'A horse called Monaghan Boy. He won by a length twice and then finished last… with three thousand pounds bet on him.'

'Which one am I talking to?' Tommy asked smoothly. 'Which one of you is the boss?'

Hal felt a smirk lifting the corners of his mouth.

'I'm Mr. Kimber's advisor and accountant,' the snooty voice confirmed.

A chair scraped back. 'And I'm the fucking boss, OK?' Kimber was almost shouting now, which meant that his advisor held more power than he cared to admit. 'Right, end of parley, you fixed a race without my permission. You fucking Gypsy scum what live off the War pensions of these poor old Garrison Lane widows!'

Hal shifted his position. John caught his eye, span the match between his fingers. An old sign not to do anything. One that Hal had very almost forgotten.

'That's your level!' Kimber went on. 'I am Billy Kimber, I run the races and ya fixed one of 'em so I'm gonna have you shot against a post.'

Footsteps, and then Tommy's voice, 'Mr. Kimber.'

A gun cocked, but still Hal didn't move. He tried to even his breathing, to remind himself that the Shelbys would let him know when, or if, they needed him.

'Look at it,' said Tommy. 'That is my name on it. It's from the Lee family. You are also at war with the Lees, Mr. Kimber, am I right?' There was a moment's silence, one that Tommy let play out before he said, 'The Lees are attacking your bookies and taking your money. Your men can't control them. You need help.'

'Perhaps,' piped up the advisor, and a little of the tension eased up in Hal's shoulders, 'we should listen to what Mr. Shelby has to say. Before we make our decisions.'

'Right, the Lees are doing a lot of talking at the fairs. They have a lot of kin. They are saying the racetracks are easy meat because the police are busy with strikes,' Tommy explained. 'Now, we have connections. We know how they operate. You have… muscle. Together we can beat them. Divided, maybe not.'

'Mr. Kimber, perhaps we should take some time for reflection,' said the advisor. 'Possibly make arrangements for a second meeting.'

'I admire you, Mr. Kimber,' said Tommy. 'You started with nothing and built a legitimate business. It would be an honour to work with you, Mr. Kimber.'

'Nobody works with me,' Kimber bolstered, and Hal's grip shifted on the gun. Part of him was glad they'd told him to stay here. He wasn't sure he could have kept a straight face with that guy in the room. 'People work _for _me.'

Something metal clattered to the floor. Hal's tension flooded back in an instant.

'Pick it up, pikey,' demanded Kimber.

There was a long pause. One in which Hal could count the breathing of the people in the other room. Kimber was low on people. But, there was no way of knowing how many of them were waiting outside.

John started standing, and Hal moved his weight to the balls of his feet.

'Sit,' snapped Tommy. 'Sit down.'

'That's for your ceiling,' said Kimber, before there were retreating footsteps.

'Thank you, Mr. Kimber,' Tommy said, all faux sincerity.

'We will be at Cheltenham,' said the advisor as Hal hovered by the door, waiting to hear the last three people leaving.

'As will I,' Tommy assured him.

There were more footsteps, and a little of the air seemed to flood back into the room. As soon as the door swung shut, Hal was out of snug and surveying the others. John looked like a whipped dog.

'So,' said Arthur as Tommy threw the deadbolt of the door, 'you picked a fight with the Lees on purpose. Tommy, we can't mess with Billy _fucking_ Kimber.'

'Get yourself a decent haircut, man,' said Tommy, picking up his drink as Hal swept one off the table for John. 'We're going to the races.'


	3. Chapter Three: A Day at the Races

_A/N: There is a mild mention of abuse in this chapter, section beginning 'After too long...' just as a quick warning._

Hal waited in a seat near the back of the pub. The place was empty, it was too early for most of the other patrons to be there, but he knew how to make himself forgettable. His hat gave most of the cover he needed, pulled low over his face. He was only there because Tommy had asked him to be, because John had Cece helping try to calm the kids down a little. Tommy so rarely asked for help that it had been almost impossible for Hal to refuse.

So Hal focused his attention on the gun that he was cleaning. His back was to the room, an attempt to look unthreatening in case there were prying eyes watching. He didn't look around when he heard the door opening. The footing was sure as they walked through the pub; it could only be Tommy. Hal didn't listen to the conversation that he had with Grace, it wasn't his place, but instead he focused his attention on everything else, trying to get accustomed to the sounds of the bar. To listen out for anything that might be of use, that might change as soon as Tommy's mysterious guests arrived.

Idly, he wondered if Luce was still there, or if she'd already headed down to Charlie's. There was something about that girl that seemed to have captured the interest of two Shelbys for different reasons. A threat or a friend, they didn't seem certain. Hal himself could understand a little of it, but he wondered if she wasn't more trouble than it was worth. Sooner or later, he guessed, she'd come trying to find out more about what they were up to. She'd either get a baptism of fire, or she'd be stopped from looking into things a little too hard. He didn't really like either of those options, if he was being honest. But it didn't matter.

The door opened again, and this time Hal shifted the butter knife that Grace had given him. Two men entered the pub, went straight for where Tommy was. They closed the doors carefully behind them.

Gently, Hal put the knife back down on the table. He put his gun back together with a practiced ease that took little to no extra attention. It took no more than a couple of seconds, but the movements were familiar, comforting; they calmed a little of his tensions about the two people now engaged in Shelby business. There had been something about them, something that he didn't like.

Not a few minutes later and the singing started up. Hal tensed. He didn't know the song, but as it drew to its conclusion he heard the familiar letters that had been causing troubles in Ireland.

The door opened again, and it took all of Hal's willpower not to turn.

'All right, boys,' came Tommy's even voice, barely audible over the singing. 'If I hear anything about who knows what about what, I'll let you know.'

As soon as he heard the door swing shut, Hal stood and strode towards the bar. Tommy was already lighting a cigarette as Grace wiped over the counter.

'I thought you only allowed singing on a Saturday,' she said as Hal slipped onto a bar stool.

'Whiskey's good proofing water,' noted Tommy, glancing briefly at Hal; a promise that he'd at least be told if it had been a good meeting or not. 'It tells you who's real and who isn't.'

'And what did my countrymen want?' asked Grace casually.

'Ah, they're nobodies,' Tommy assured her. But Hal knew better than anyone that Thomas Shelby didn't deal with nobodies. To him, everyone had their use. 'They drink in The Black Sawn at Sparkbrook. They're only rebels because they like the songs.' He glanced quickly at the doors.

'That why they murder them?' Hal asked, earning the barest flicker of a smirk from Tommy.

'You have sympathies with them?' Grace asked, attention skimming between the two of them.

'I have no sympathies of any description.'

'Their accents were so thick, it's a wonder you could understand them,' said Grace, a gentle teasing lilt to her voice that highlighted her own accent. 'Next time, I could translate.'

Hal scoffed, which earned a small smile from the barmaid.

'You'd work for me?' Tommy asked, genuinely curious.

'I thought I already was.'

'So you _are_ coming to the races? Two pounds, ten shillings.' Tommy was reaching into his pocket as he spoke. 'Right.'

'Did… did you just silently barter with Thomas Shelby?' asked Hal, looking between the two of them, amusement bubbling up inside of him.

Tommy sneered at him, but Grace merely shrugged modestly. There was something more to the little transaction than either of them was willing, or cared, to admit to.

'You are truly a powerful woman, Grace,' he said, smirking.

Tommy patted the money on the bar. 'Ten shillings. Buy something red. To match his handkerchief.' He nodded briefly to Hal before heading towards the door.

Hal didn't bother arguing. The message about the protection of the Garrison was one that seemed to have been learnt; his constant presence at the place was no longer needed.

At least this meant there was something more pressing to think about.

'Whose handkerchief?' asked Grace.

But Tommy didn't answer, he just kept walking.

Hal turned to face Grace, shrugged at her, and then backed out of the Garrison, curious to what the hell Tommy was planning this time, but knowing that he'd only find out when the plan succeeded. If it didn't, then it would be another plot hidden in the depths of unspoken Shelby secrets.

Stan gently stroked the horse. He didn't know why he was doing this. As far as he was concerned this was family business, not the kind of thing that he should even be thinking about getting Luce near. And yet, he felt as though this was the kind of thing Luce needed. The type of adventure that she might actually enjoy.

Then again, perhaps she'd already been there. Seen it all…

Stanley shook his head. He had no idea what she was used to. She barely spoke about the past, only the things that might happen in the immediate future. But there where ghosts in her eyes, ghosts that he didn't want to pry into.

'You know, your face'll get stuck like that if the wind changes,' teased Luce, pulling Stanley's attention away from Monaghan Boy and towards her. Her hair was piled up on the top of her head, red curls falling to her shoulders as if refusing to be tamed like that. There was a small smile on her face that he hadn't seen before; filled with unbridled amusement. It was the calmest he'd ever seen her.

'Shouldn't you be painting a barge or something?' he teased as she moved closer, as she gently ran her hand down the flank of the horse. There was something more gentle about her movements than he'd seen before; something tender.

'Charlie said something about needing to do it himself,' she said, offering him little more than a shrug. 'Anyway… I… I wanted to see how you were doing.'

For a moment, Stanley was confused. He scrunched his face as he tried to figure out what she might be talking about.

But then, it hit him.

_Oh_, he thought. _That_.

'Need to deal with –'

'No,' said Luce, moving so that she was in his eye line, directly between him and the horse, her shoulder a little under his arm. 'You don't get to do that.'

'Do what?' Stanley asked, moving away, instead looking at Monaghan's left back hoof, forcing his attention towards the horse that was in front of him. Anything but that. He'd think of anything, just not that night. Not the look on Tommy's face nor the way he couldn't get the horrible silence out of his head after the explosion of the gunshot.

'Pretend it doesn't matter.'

Stanley's hands froze.

'Stan, you saw a horse get put down by your own brother.'

'You saw him shoot a man,' Stan countered, rounding on her. Luce's expression fell ever so slightly. He wished that he could take the words back, that he could do something to make her forget that little nugget of information. It didn't matter that the whole thing had been faked – even if that wasn't something he'd been able to tell her. It was still her own personal nightmare, and he'd been enough of a bastard to bring it up when she was just trying to help.

Luce looked away from him; her hands flew to her hair, fingers expertly plaiting a small section of loose curls. 'You loved that horse. Both of you. And now you think the way of coping is to just… ignore it all?'

'No,' Stanley said softly. That was what his brothers did, boxed things up, didn't let feelings hurt them because they were in control. But Stan wasn't like that. He'd spent the last five years with Polly and Ada; spent time trying to be more grown up than he was. In that time he'd learnt something: a person could break easily from holding too much inside. 'It's just…' He heaved a sigh, he didn't know what he wanted to say, and he certainly knew that now wasn't the time to ask about Cheltenham.

'All right,' she said softly, but instantly Stan's attention was on her. 'You don't have to say anything now; hell, you might even have already got it out of your system that night. But… I'm here for you.' She locked her eyes with his, and he found that he couldn't look away, couldn't force himself not to get sucked into the sincerity behind her voice.

'Thanks, Luce.' Stan heaved a sigh, finally managed to turn his attention to the horse, to the thoughts that refused to be batted away. Because, even if this was family business, Cheltenham was a new place to explore. An adventure that they could share in together. 'You ever been to the races?'

If Luce was shocked by the sudden change of conversation, she didn't show it. 'Once or twice. Why?'

A smile slipped quickly onto Stan's face, one that he saw Luce mirroring ever so slightly. 'How'd you feel about coming to see where the horses are rested before a race?'

The Chinese quarter of the city was one of those oddly comforting places for Hal. It was so different from what he was used to, so unlike his home that if felt as if he were seeing something new. Didn't matter how many times he went back, how many times he traipsed through the streets on some errand or another, it felt as though he were somewhere else entirely.

He wondered if China itself was anything like these streets, but shook the thought away. He needed to focus.

He wasn't entirely sure why Tommy was bringing him along for this, but he wasn't going to argue. The mild threat of something terrible happening was enough to sate his craving for action; to help stop the other thoughts from crowding him. But he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this than simply back up; after all, Tommy could look after himself, and he usually preferred to work alone for some things.

Which meant this wasn't about his business. It was about something else entirely.

'What do you know about Lucinda?' Tommy asked as they walked, his attention straight ahead, hand never too far from his pocket though, as if fiddling with the material was an odd kind of comfort to him.

'She's barely ever at the Garrison. Rises early, comes back late. Lights a candle almost as soon as the door's shut – you can smell the match.'

'She hasn't said anything about where she's from?'

Hal shook his head, knew that Tommy would probably see the gesture out his periphery vision. 'She doesn't talk and I haven't found the way of asking. Save threatening the kid, but that don't sit right.' Hal knew that if it became necessary, it was something Tommy would contemplate, but it wasn't something either of them would like. After all, she was just a kid.

'And Stan hasn't said anything,' said Tommy simply.

'Is it so bad if he's got a friend?'

This time, Tommy did look around. 'No,' he said reasonably, 'but that girl's running from something and I want to know what. She could bring trouble for all we know, and we can't have that.' He turned into the suit shop that must have been their destination all along, one hand raised to indicate that Hal should stay put; halting the conversation abruptly.

'Mr. Shelby, sir,' greeted Zhang, moving to follow Tommy as he walked towards the suits. Hal remained on the edge of the shop, his attention skittering the street, checking for any sign of activity. Any sign of attack.

'Mr. Zhang,' greeted Tommy, almost brightly, as he browsed through the suits. He lingered on one.

Hal caught sight of Kimber, and the rest of the conversation was lost to him. His hand went to his gun, but he shifted slightly towards another stall. Tommy hadn't said who he was meeting, yet Hal had a feeling this was another moment he needed to disappear. He lingered nearby, his attention never once leaving Kimber and his little entourage.

'Please, gentlemen. No fighting in here,' said Zhang, his staff scattering out of the way.

'S'all right. I come as a friend,' said Tommy amicably. Hal barely stopped himself from scoffing. 'You're collecting your suit for Cheltenham – it's very nice.'

'How the bloody hell do you know?' asked Kimber, moving as Tommy did. They looked like they were circling dogs, ready to tear each other apart at the slightest provocation.

'I know a lot of things, Mr. Kimber,' Tommy said reasonably, finally stilling. 'And as I told you before, I know the Lee brothers. And I know they're going to be at the Cheltenham races as well.'

'Yes, well they're going to lose a lot of money on fast women and slow nags,' countered Kimber.

'No,' said Tommy with unquestionable certainty, and Hal shifted ever so slightly to get a better look at Kimber. He looked almost relaxed; or at least, at ease. In his eyes, he had two people to Tommy's none. Hal loved it when people underestimated Tommy; the shock on their faces when they realised their mistake was quite something. 'They're planning on showing up in numbers and robbing your bookies. Running chalk and rafflers.'

Kimber scoffed. Hal's hand twitched by his gun.

'You think I can't handle the Lees?'

'Just a word of warning from a friend. That's all,' said Tommy. There was a pause in which Hal shifted further away, feeling that the discussion was at an end, no matter what Kimber might have thought. 'I'll see you at Cheltenham.'

'I'll wave at you from my box,' belittled Kimber. Tommy scoffed, and Hal waited for him to keep walking before he made his move. 'If you are coming to the races, bring that pretty barmaid of yours.'

Tommy turned, and for a moment Hal wondered if he might not hit the man, even from where he was currently standing. Hal certainly felt the urge to do just that rising within him. He'd known men like Kimber. He'd known how they thought of women, knew what they did. His hand tightened ever so slightly on his gun.

He felt the brief look from Tommy, that to anyone else would have simply seemed like he was eyeing the mannequin's suit before he honed his attention on Kimber. 'Already invited,' he assured the other man before walking away.

Hal waited a moment before following, letting his hand fall from his gun. He hoped that Tommy did have a plan for all this, because otherwise he was playing a very dangerous game of chance. One Hal really couldn't, for once, see him winning.

Luce hummed softly as she painted the wood of the houseboat. She couldn't stop her thoughts from swirling back to the idea of a race, of seeing the stables, of exploring another side to the whole thing. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been to a race. Either that, or she didn't want to. It was too painful to think of things before, too difficult to remember her brother's smile or her father's easy laugh; the proud look that glinted brightly behind her mother's eyes.

She gripped the paint brush a little tighter, forced herself to breathe evenly as she carefully filled in some of the gaps.

Being in the stables would be different from anything that she'd done before though, that was for sure. It was something new, and exciting. And, with Stan there to talk her through things –

'Lucinda?'

Luce's hand stilled; her blood seemed to freeze. She thought that she was over her fear of Thomas Shelby, but apparently some things weren't so easily forgotten. Like a man being shot at point blank range for no apparent reason.

'I'm not going to shoot you.'

Luce let out a nervous chuckle. 'Nice to know,' she murmured, gently resting the paint brush on the edge of the can. She turned to face him, but Thomas's attention was on the canal, on the water that was gently moving passed them.

'My brother's taken quite a shine to you,' he said simply, lighting a match for the cigarette hanging from his mouth. 'And he doesn't know anything about you.'

Nervously, Luce jiggled her leg. A thousand retorts swarmed in her head but she dare not voice any of them. They were the kind of jibes she used to throw her brother's way. They weren't the kind of thing you carelessly threw at people like Thomas Shelby. So she remained silent, hoping that he would fill the silence.

But the world seemed to hold its breath. The sound of the water didn't calm her this time. If anything, it felt too loud to her ears.

Perhaps she could run. Knock him in the shins and…

'There's nothing to know, Mr. Shelby,' she said softly, shaking the stupid thoughts from her head. The sight of him shooting that man filled her thoughts, blood dripping down his face, cool blue eyes locked o her. Her memory refused to let her forget it.

'There's always something to know,' Thomas said simply, before taking a long drag of his cigarette. 'I know you ran away, I just don't know why.'

Luce opened her mouth, contemplated what she would say, but then closed it again. She turned to face the water, tried to calm her thundering heart. Part of her wondered if he knew she was terrified; if it was one of those times when the predator could feel the fear of the prey.

Again, she shook the thought clear. He was just a man.

Just a man who had shot another man without reason.

'You see,' Tommy said, and she felt him shifting to crouch beside her. She tensed; every fibre of her being screamed at her to run, but she couldn't. He'd shoot, or stop her, or something, before she'd even taken two steps. 'I recently acquired the Garrison. My brother, Arthur, is going to run it, and we need to re-evaluate what's already there.'

Luce's attention snapped to him in an instant. His gaze was on the paintwork that she'd been so careful to keep neat, to make sure that it wouldn't get too badly damaged next time the boat took to the water. She felt the bile rising in her throat. She hadn't saved enough to find rooms elsewhere yet. Not ones that were so close to everything she was beginning to get used to at the very least. She wasn't ready to move on yet, it turned out.

Thomas blew smoke out of his mouth, a little plume of it floated through the air, snatched away by the gentle breeze that forever seemed a constant by the canals.

'Can't have someone living above the pub that we don't know.'

Luce sucked in a deep breath; her hands found a stray piece of hair and she worried it between her fingers. She didn't want to think about home, didn't want to admit that she'd left it because she couldn't cope. And, even if she had been ready for that kind of conversation, Thomas Shelby was not the person she wanted to have it with.

And yet, here he was, forcing her hand to do just that.

'You either tell me what you're running from, Lucinda, or you can pack up your bags right now. You won't be able to find rooms nearby that'll take you.'

Outrage flooded through Luce, but there was nothing she could do with it. Fear held it back with a strong damn.

She took a calming breath; tasted the smoke in the air.

'There's no big story, Mr. Shelby,' she said simply, turning back towards the water, unable to look at him. 'I ran away from home.'

'Where's home?'

'Can't tell by the accent?' she asked softly, before flinching ever so slightly. The fissures were beginning to show, fissures that she couldn't allow if this was going to work. 'London. I came from London.'

'Why?'

Luce let out a low noise, that even to her own ears sounded like a wounded animal. She turned to look at Thomas briefly, spotted the curious look behind his eyes; as if he were eager to hear the rest of the story.

Anything, if it meant protecting Stan, she guessed.

'Things were too different,' she said, forcing herself to look at him, to try figuring out what was going on inside that head of his. To see if she was winning her right to the room or not. 'The War changed everyone, not just the men sent to the front lines. I get we didn't have it so bad here, that we can't understand the horrors of over there, but we lived through the threat of zeppelins, of possible starvation, through our whole lives being turned upside down when we thought that we were safe because water separated us from all that.'

Thomas took a drag of his cigarette, turned away to let the smoke out this time.

'I ran away for a fresh start. But I guess I can try somewhere else,' she finished softly, turning her attention back to the paint pot, to the job that she'd promised Charlie she'd get done before the day was out.

Silence filled the space between the two of them. Luce forced herself not to fill it, focused herself on painting the last few slats of the boat. When that was done, she would have to check the ropes, make sure the –

Thomas stood up, she saw his shadow shifting and once again she tensed.

'You can keep the room,' he said around his cigarette. 'But if you're lying, I will find out.'

She watched his shadow, watched as it got smaller and smaller. Only when she could see the top of his head beside her did she turn to face him, turn to watch him walking away with baited breath. Terrified that he still might change his mind, that he still might just shoot her because of what she'd seen. Isn't that why Sy warned her about once? Silencing people.

'And Lucinda?' Thomas said, not looking back and causing a ripple of unease to shoot through her. 'Make sure you keep helping my brothers. God knows Arthur's going to need a hand keeping that place tidy.'

And then, he was gone, disappeared around a corner. The implication of Stanley hanging heavily over her, even though it was left unsaid.

Luce finally exhaled, felt the tension slipping from her shoulders.

Maybe, just maybe, she should have kept walking that first night when Stanley stopped her leaving the Garrison. But hindsight was a wonderful thing, and she still wasn't ready to give up on the new adventure that was Birmingham. Even when faced with the threat of Thomas Shelby, it would seem.

Hal lent against the wall, waiting for the others to arrive. He knew that he was meant to be taking Stan and Luce to the races, knew that he was supposed to be keeping an eye on the two of them at least until they were in the relative safety of the stables, but this was important as well. John had reminded him of the meeting, and Stan had asked for the lift. It didn't matter how politely Stanley asked, they all knew that it was John who was going to win out in the favours department.

He grinned as John sauntered over to them, Arthur not far behind. The eldest Shelby was looking happier than Hal had seen him in a long while. His injuries were already healing, and the memories of Flanders were letting him be for the moment. He was in his element, and Hal felt a little of his nervous energy dissipating ever so slightly.

'Attention!' Arthur said as he jumped onto one of the boxes; as two more Blinders carried crates out to put in front of it. 'Right. This is what was known as your final briefing before going over the top. Sixty mile down that road is Cheltenham racetrack. Johnny, what's our mission, boy?'

'To stick it to the Lee family, Arthur,' his brother said, dragging out his brother's name in a kind of rallying cry; the familiar confidence of battle preparations lingering behind his voice.

'That's right,' agreed Arthur calmly. 'The Lees are skimming money off legal bookies.' He dropped to the floor, started walking amongst the men. 'Running chalk, selling rafflers, and beating up thems that won't buy. But today, we're going to stop them.'

'What about Kimber's men?' asked Hal, raising his hand in a mockery of the school house.

John smirked at him. 'I thought he had his own protection.'

'Kimber's let his troops go rotten. They're on the take from the Lees to look the other way,' Arthur told them, and Hal couldn't help but wonder if Kimber didn't deserve whatever retribution he had coming. He forcefully reminded himself that Tommy had a plan, that it might just cause more harm to Billy Kimber than the man's arrogance allowed him to think possible. 'We're gonna show Kimber how it should be done. Now take what you're good at. Those of you with guns' – Arthur shot a brief look to Hal as he stepped back up onto his stage,; but Hal merely shrugged as the others moved to collect their own weapons – 'keep them out of it, unless a gun is pulled on you. We want this done quietly.'

'So when do we share out the cash?' Hills asked.

'We don't,' Arthur told him simply as John passed a hunting knife to Hal. He flicked the metal with a fingernail. Not his favourite, but it was the one he'd had the most practice with when they were kids. 'We're not keeping the cash. You're in Tommy's army now, boys. Trust only kin. Let's go.'

Arthur twirled his cane theatrically before jumping down off the box. Hal shot a sideways look to John. He could see the familiar battle ready look behind his friend's eyes; saw that he was as eager for all the action as Hal himself.

'I'll see yous there,' Hal said, pocketing the knife and patting John on the shoulder. 'I've got to play chauffeur.'

'Oohh, fancy,' teased John, before his smirk faltered. 'For who?'

'Stan and Lucinda. See you there!' he called, already making his way through the yard, knowing that they were going to have to hurry to get there on time. But it had been worth the diversion. He was more ready for a day at the races than he'd been before.

'I'm sorry it's not much,' apologised Stanley.

Luce didn't need to be looking at him to know he was fully focused on the horse, but that his words were meant for her. In fact, it wasn't even the first time he'd said it. The car journey there had been filled with awkward silences; Hal's attempts at terrible jokes, and Stan's apologies. Not that she'd minded. There had been more than enough to distract herself with; scenery sped passed the window, more new places to hopefully explore one day.

And yet, there had always been a knot of anxiety sitting uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach. Cheltenham was closer to London than it was to Birmingham. What if Thomas Shelby had lied? What if he was getting Hal to take her back to London so that she wasn't underfoot anymore?

But those thoughts had faded almost as soon as they pulled up at the stables. Stanley had taken her hand, called a quick goodbye to Hal, and dragged her to the place where he was most at ease.

'Stanley, it's brilliant,' she breathed, finally stopping in her examination of the room and turning to him. Some of the others in the stables had glared at her, accusations of cheating bubbling up, filling the air with a kind of toxicity that she could feel but easily ignore. Her own curiosity was far greater than any irritation they could harbour.

A little of the tension behind Stan's expression eased. A small smile ghosted his lips. 'You get a better view of the race from here. Ground level. I don't know why more people don't come.'

'Because then all the best spots would be taken, and where would people like you go?'

Stanley scoffed slightly, carefully put Monaghan Boy's hoof on the floor. 'We'd find a way to watch,' he said, and Luce didn't bother trying to stifle her own laughter.

A door opened and instantly her attention was there. She tried not to think about what might happen if Thomas arrived, if he decided that this little trip wasn't worth the risk of not knowing who she was. But she relaxed when she realised that it was just one of the racers. One who had smiled at her when she'd been looking around.

'You all right?' asked Stanley, his voice tinged with concern.

Luce slowly turned to face him, tried for a small smile but that only seemed to cause the furrow between his brows to deepen. 'Never better, Stan,' she said, moving towards Monaghan Boy's other side. 'Now, what else do you need to check?'

For a moment, Stanley didn't say anything. But then he hummed a weak response before moving to her other side, motioning to another hoof. She was grateful for the moment of respite, but she knew that his concerns wouldn't remained unvoiced forever.

'Thought you'd ditched us,' teased John, clapping Hal on the back when he was finally reunited with the rest of the Blinders. He'd checked that the youngsters were safely in the stables, checked that Stan had his cap tucked into his back pocket even if he wouldn't use it, and then hurried off to find the others. They were already waiting outside the bathroom.

'Thought you knew better than to wait outside bathrooms. It's a little odd,' Hal teased, pushing the door open carefully, knowing that there had to be something going on inside.

John shot him a wide grin, but the look became something colder when they spotted one of the Lee boys, a figure already pushed up against the wall. Threats already being dealt.

Whatever deal he was trying to broker had barely started before John had hold of him. Hal stood in front of the door, barring the escape route for their messenger; stopping anyone else from getting in.

'Hello, Raz,' said Arthur as John struggled to hold the man still, one arm around his neck, the other loped under his armpit. 'How's business?' Arthur punctuated the question with a punch to the gut. Raz doubled over, groaning as he did so.

But that wasn't the last of it. John shifted away as Arthur hit the man again. There was barely a second's respite before Arthur smacked Raz against the wall, sending him to his knees with a kick to the stomach. He'd barely touched the floor when Arthur had a handful of his hair, used it to smash his face against the edge of the sink.

Hal took a moment to look towards the other people in the room. The book keeper was watching on in obvious awe and horror; his attention straying ever so slightly to the door, as if worried that he might be next for the current treatment. Hal made sure that the hunting knife hung loosely by his side. A silent threat more than anything, but an assurance that none of them were leaving until the Peaky Blinders were good and ready.

'Fucking get up,' said John, grabbing the man by the neck and forcing him to stand. Arthur slowly took off his cap.

Hal's attention shifted back to the others, back to the man now fixated in horror as Raz yelled in pain. As the message was given to the first of the Lee boys; and to the book keeper. A promise that the Peaky Blinders would protect him and his from now on.

'Stay still, Raz, or I'll take the whole ear off,' said Arthur as someone tried the bathroom door.

Hal hit it in retaliation. The man grumbled, but he could have sworn he heard retreating footsteps.

'And you're going to need your ears to listen. No more chalking on Billy Kimber's boys. Right?' snapped Arthur. 'We're the protection naw. I commandeer this stolen money by order of the Peaky Blinders.'

John kneed Raz in the groin for good measure, sending him to the floor once more. Arthur spat at him, chucked the money to Hal, and then they left the bathroom and Raz behind.

With any luck, Raz and Kimber's man would tell the story to their respective groups; word would spread faster than Kimber could control.

Hal smacked John gently on the back. There was still work to be done, and Hal couldn't help the little thrill of excitement that ran through him at the prospect of action.

After too long cooped up as a precaution of protection, Hal had been waiting for something like this. The Lees had all gathered themselves near one of the betting pitches; Hal couldn't help but think that it was considerate of them to help like that. Stupid, but they had expected as much. They knew the Lees would go on the offensive as soon as they could. Damned be the consequences.

'Look what we have here,' chimed Hal, nudging John gently in the ribs.

'In't it nice of them to gather together,' teased John.

'Rather takes the sport out of it all,' Hal said, mocking the posher tone that he'd heard Kimber's accountant using. He shot a smirk over at his friend, but that's when the Lee boys made their move. A fraction of a move. A hand towards a gun, but enough to grab Hal's attention.

Hal was moving before he even realised it. His hunting knife held carefully in his hand. He made the first slash while he was moving, across the arm of a Lee boy who had lunged towards Arthur. Hal shifted his grip, dove the knife into the man's shoulder as another Lee threw a punch at his face.

The attack hit, sending Hal reeling to the side, knife forgotten by him but not by the screaming man.

'What happened to quiet?' Hal asked, his head spinning as he tried to straighten.

Someone thumped him over the back of the head, sent him to his knees. But, even with a world spinning around him, Hal had faced much worse when he'd been at home.

At least that was one thing his father had taught him: how to take a hit.

He whipped his hat off, curled it so the blades were free, and sliced at the leg of a man in front of him. The guy yelled, but the moment of distraction was all Hal needed to get a hand on the table and haul himself to his feet. Around him, other fights were going on. Hills was literally ripping a bag of money from someone's hands. John was punching a man in the gut, unrelenting in his attacks. Arthur twirled his cane before whipping it around like a golf club, hitting another man's jaw and knocking him to the floor.

'Devon Road!' Hills said, drawing attention towards the track. 'They're making a run for it with the money.'

'After them boys!' yelled Arthur, hitting another Lee in the shins before they could run off to join their brethren. 'Hal, wait here with these.'

Hal nodded, briefly touched his temple to see how much it hurt. But he watched as the others hurried onto the track before turning his attention to the four fallen Lee boys now under his watch. He cracked his knuckles before wrenching his knife free of the man's shoulder.

The yell of pain was nothing that Hal hadn't heard before.

This was the kind of action that he had been longing for. And now, finally, the chance had come; even if it had been short lived, it had taken away a little of his own tensions. He wondered how long it would be before they got another taste of this, but he doubted it would be long with Tommy calling more of the shots.

Stan watched as people sped passed him, their movements alien and oddly graceful. There were some who clung to the edges of the rink, to each other as if that might help to balance them out somehow. The whole scene was chaos, and he couldn't quite believe that he was agreeing to join in with it all.

'Lighten up,' said Luce, the amusement behind her voice almost palpable. 'It'll be fun.'

'"Fun" isn't exactly what I'd call this,' he grumbled, glancing down at his own roller skates. He was glad that the four wheels felt pretty sturdy when still. It was just when they were in motion that they were beginning to worry him.

'I can't believe you've never done this before.'

'Give me a horse any day. Who thought wheels for your feet were a good idea?!' he asked as she gently took his hand and eased him away from the railing. It had taken him a good five minutes to get from where he'd put his skates on to the edge, and in that time Luce had already been around the rink God knew how many times. He'd seen the elation on her face and contemplated just sitting at the side, letting her have her moment of quiet. But he couldn't. She'd come with him to the races, so he owed her this little learning curve about her.

And, she hadn't really given him much of a choice either way. She'd skated over to him easily and offered him a hand before he could take the damned things off.

He'd declined, thinking that he might only pull her down with him like he'd seen some of the other pairs doing. But, Luce was more stubborn than he could have anticipated on the matter.

Perhaps sitting and watching the rink first was the worst thing that he could have done to himself.

'They _are _a good idea, Stan,' she said, carefully easing him onto the actual rink, holding his hand steady and firm as he clutched to the edge as tightly as he could with his other. 'You'll get used to it, and then you'll wonder why you did anything else with your time.'

'I doubt that,' said Stan through teeth gritted in concentration, shifting his grip on her hand so that it felt a little more secure. 'You know I'm getting you back for this specific form of torture.'

'I know,' she said, shooting him a bright smile. 'Now, push your foot forwards.'

Stanley shook his head ever so slightly. He was glad that Luce was there with him, glad that she was helping him to try new things, he just hoped that his family wasn't going to scare her away any time soon. God knew that they were more than capable of it.

But there was one thing he'd learnt about Luce in the time he'd known her, it was that she was difficult to scare away fully.

Which led him to wonder what had been so bad that she'd needed to run away from it? Did he really want to know, though? That was the question that niggled at the back of his thoughts now, caused him to stumble on the roller skates and lean a little more against her.


	4. Chapter Four: Weddings and Fireworks

Stan gently tapped on the table. He could feel the tension in the room, could feel the nervousness practically coming off John in waves. He glanced briefly towards Hal and Arthur, but they both seemed lost in thought, as in the dark about the whole situation as Stanley was. Which struck him as odd. There was barely anything that John said without first having spoken to Hal about it; without having made sure that his best friend wasn't completely in the dark because that's just how they worked. So this was serious. Serious enough that he, Stanley, had agreed to come to the Garrison. The one place that seemed to be linked exclusively with Peaky Blinder business. With things that he'd rather be kept as far away from as possible.

Other than if he was seeing Luce.

The door opened. Arthur and John seemed unconcerned, but Hal's attention snapped that way, as did Stan's.

'All right, John. There's only one –' Arthur offered Tommy a cigarette, but he held up a hand. 'No. There's only one man guarding the 'ouse,' said Tommy as he settled into the corner of the room. 'What's troubling ya?'

John coughed, rubbed his nose. A nervous twitch that Stan hadn't seen for a while. 'Right. Right Polly, you know what it's been like since Martha died.'

'God takes the best first,' soothed Polly, gently patting her nephew's hand.

'The truth is, my kids have been running bloody rings around me. Even with Hal and Cece helping,' John said, shooting a small, grateful smile towards Hal. 'They're running barefoot with the dogs until all hours.'

'Pol, give him ten bob, some shoes. Is that it, John?' asked Tommy, his irritation obvious behind his voice. He was eager to get somewhere.

'Tommy, we'd be better doing this without you,' said Polly sharply. Tommy shifted back towards the wall, but the irritation hadn't left him though, but even the fearsome Thomas Shelby listened to Polly Gray. 'Now, what's your point?'

'What the kids need,' said John, unable to look anyone in the eye, his focus on the table, 'is a mother. So, that's why I'm getting married.'

An uncertain look passed around the room, instantly smothering Stanley's small smile. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

'Does this poor girl know you're going to marry her or are you going to spring it on her all of a sudden?' asked Polly.

'Well, I've already proposed and she said – she said "yes."'

'You sly dog,' teased Hal, patting him on the shoulder. But there was something about the gesture that didn't feel right. It was his attempt to calm John, to reassure him that things would be all right.

'I think there's a shell about to land and go bang,' said Tommy coolly, lighting his own cigarette.

Silence filled the room for a moment. John took a drink; wiped his mouth before continuing. 'It's, er… It's Lizzie Stark.'

A chuckle ran around the room. Stan furrowed his brow, trying to remember the name, feeling as though he were missing out on a joke.

Hal lent forward on the table, a conspiring look glinting brightly behind his eyes. 'She's a _lady of the night_,' he said in a stage-whisper.

Polly shot him a small smirk before turning her attention back to John, but even she couldn't hold the laughter from her voice. 'John, Lizzie Stark's a strong woman and I'm sure she provides a fine service for her customers...'

'I won't hear the word!' snapped John, for once his fierce gaze snapping around to Hal. Hal held his hands up in a peaceable gesture. 'Understand? Do not use that word.'

'What word is that, John?' asked Tommy simply.

'You know what word that is.'

Arthur scoffed. 'Everybody bloody knows… 'Cept maybe Stan.'

'Hey!' complained Stanley, but his attention had strayed back to John. He looked as though he was barely containing his annoyance at the fact they were all missing the point. Missing the whole reason for this little meeting. Missing what he was feeling.

'Everybody,' said John, voice wavering ever so slightly with emotion, 'can go to hell.'

'"Whore"? That word?' asked Tommy, but there was something almost unkind about his tone.

'I was going "prostitute",' said Hal, a gentle jibing lilt behind his voice, his attempts to calm the storm that must have been raging inside John.

John rubbed his mouth. 'Right, I want it known that if anyone calls her a "whore" again, I will push the barrel of my revolver down their throats and blow the word back down into their hearts.'

Stanley sat back in his seat. Not just from the words, but from the fury his brother was barely containing. He hadn't even realised that John knew Lizzie that well. Then again, from what the others were saying he was beginning to wonder if John really _did _know her that well.

'Men and their cocks never cease to amaze me,' said Polly simply. 'John, Lizzie Stark never did a day's work vertical.' Hal scoffed at that, but looked away quickly when John's irritation snapped his way.

'She's changed,' insisted John. 'All right. People change.' And then he was on his feet, hitting the table as he moved. 'Like wi – wi – with religion.'

'Oh, Lizzie Stark has got religion, eh?' asked Tommy.

Hal opened his mouth, some jibe obviously ready, but he quickly closed it again. Whatever teasing the Shelby brothers got away with, there was always a kind of loyalty which meant some lines Hal Brandon would never cross. Currently, it was further exacerbating the issues of this prospective marriage.

'No, no, she doesn't have religion. But… Well, well she loves me.'

'John,' said Hal softly, but his friend was already looking to his older brother.

'Now, listen, Tommy. I won't do it without your blessing. But of all the people in the world… I – I want you to see it… as – as brave.'

'Oh it's brave all right,' said Arthur, before taking a drink of his whiskey. Stan flinched slightly at the tone.

'"Brave" is going where no man has ever gone before,' said Aunt Polly reasonably. But already Stanley could hear the fissures of laughter in her voice, knew that this wasn't going to end the way John must have hoped. 'And with Lizzie Stark, John, that is _really _not what you'll be doing.'

Arthur scoffed; only Hal seemed to have sobered slightly at the look behind John's eyes.

'Listen, Tommy,' said John, finally finding it in himself not to listen to the others. Stanley had to commend him for it, knew how hard it must be. 'Welcome her to the family. As someone who's had a hard life. All right? Because, I need someone. All right, the kids need someone.'

The door opened. Finn hurried into the room, but Hal was already on his feet, ready to prevent anything terrible happening.

'Tommy! We've been done over!'

'What?' asked Arthur.

Stan was on his feet before he knew what he was doing. He went to follow the others, but Aunt Pol put a hand out.

'Sure you want to do this?'

Stanley wasn't sure, he didn't know that he was ready to see the other side of things properly. To see what might have happened in the shop. And yet…

He nodded and hurried out after his brothers, really hoping that they might just be able to fix this.

Hal wandered around the place, looking for signs of exactly what had happened. There was no way that the Lees could have known the shop was going to be empty. There was no way they could have seen the impromptu family meeting happening, that the place would have one man in it. They were usually so careful. It was one mistake, but one that he knew they were never going to make again.

And then there was the question of how on earth they'd even got in.

He heard John grunt. Heard a box get kicked, clatter against the wall before falling still. 'Jesus Christ.'

'What the bloody hell happened here?' asked Arthur, in control once more.

Hal slipped past Stanley, who was standing in the centre of the room looking at the mess as if from a fair distance away. As if the whole thing wasn't real.

'The Lees. All of them. Cousins, nephews, even the bastards,' Scudboat told them.

'They've taken anything they can lay their hands on,' said Polly. 'Four cash boxes.'

'They left these,' said Tommy, holding up the set of wire cutters that sent a ripple of fear down Hal's back. The last time he'd seen some of them he'd been handing them to Phillips. Been making sure the man was prepared to cut through the barbed wire the Germans had put up to protect their trenches.

'Wire cutters. Why would they leave wire cutters?' asked Polly, snapping Hal's attention back to the room, back to the fact that Stan's face was paler than ever.

'Nobody move,' growled Arthur.

'I think our friends are playing the game,' said Tommy simply.

'What game?' asked Stanley, his voice little more than a squeak. He didn't even look at Tommy, as if the mere movement of his head might rupture whatever warning Arthur had given them.

Polly, however, was already moving, heading to the office.

John held out a hand to stop her. 'Aunt Pol. Don't touch anything.' The fear behind his voice was palpable.

'Erasmus Lee was in France,' Tommy reminded them.

'Shit,' cursed Scudboat, standing up slowly.

'When we gave up ground to the Germans,' said Tommy, voice even despite how Hal could see the effort it was taking him to go back there, to remember, 'we'd leave behind booby traps, set up with wires.'

'And we'd leave wire cutters as part of the joke,' Hal said softly, carefully putting a hand on Stanley's shoulder, trying to keep the trembling boy steady.

'Somewhere in here there's a hand grenade,' noted John.

'Holy Jesus,' cursed Polly.

'Attached to a wire,' finished Arthur, attention skimming the room.

Hal focused his attention on the furniture closest to him, tried to make sure that there was nothing there. Part of him wondered if they weren't actually all right. They'd been moving through the shop without already having set it off. The chances of that were slim.

But not impossible.

'Don't move any chairs,' said Arthur as he carefully moved from his spot, 'or open any doors. Go easy, John boy. Easy.'

Hal felt Stanley's shoulders rise ever so slightly.

'No,' said Tommy softly, but somehow he managed to command the attention of the room. 'Boys, no. It's not in 'ere.'

'Would've blown?' Hal asked, looking to Tommy.

He merely inclined his head ever so slightly. 'It was my name on that bullet Erasmus sent. He's set up a trap all right. But he's set it up just for me.'

And then, without another word, Tommy was off.

'Where are you going?' asked Stanley, voice a few octaves higher than normal. Hal tightened his grip on the boy's shoulder.

'Leave him, Stan,' said Arthur. 'Ain't no concern of yours. Help with this, would ya?'

For a moment, Hal wondered if Stanley Shelby was going to argue. If he was finally going to fight back with his brothers in a way that they'd never expected of the usually timid boy. But he heaved a deep sigh, only a little of the tension slipping from his shoulders, before he nodded.

'Go with him,' Polly said, her attention on Hal.

He offered her a quick salute before hurrying after Tommy, clapping John briefly on the shoulder as he passed.

Luce hummed as she walked. After working almost too long at the yard Charlie had all but insisted she take the day off. She'd wanted to argue, but they both knew that it would have been half-hearted. For all her love of working there, for the comfort she found in the physical labour of looking after the boats, she was missing the adventure of being in a new place, of exploring the local area. She had a little money in her bag, ready to buy whatever train ticket she could get.

She just had to hope that she could get back in time to help tidy the Garrison. So far, things hadn't been that different, but she wasn't about to risk incurring the wrath of the Shelbys.

'Clear!' someone yelled, startling her from her thoughts. Something flew through the air, collided with the wall opposite.

Instinctively, Luce turned to the alleyway from where the projectile had come from. She spotted Thomas Shelby before the explosion went off. She fell with the force of it. For a moment, she was back in London, back to a time when the raids had rattled buildings. When people huddled in Underground stations in the hopes that they might be spared from the German attacks they never thought would cross the water.

Her hands stung as she forced herself to sit up, the smoke billowing down the street from where the bomb had hit caught in her throat. Panic clawed at her chest, and instinctively she looked down the alley once more.

'Are you all right?' someone asked.

'Yeah, yeah,' came the reply, but Luce's attention was still on the alleyway. Thomas was holding the hand of a small boy, possibly Finn from what she could remember Stan telling her, and Hal wasn't too far behind them. He looked shaken, but his attention quickly found her.

He shifted passed the Shelbys, crouched in front of her. 'Are you all right?'

Luce didn't trust herself to answer calmly, she merely looked at her hands. They were covered in a few scrapes, blood mingling with dirt. 'What happened?' she asked, moving to wipe her hands down her skirt.

Hal, however, caught her wrists; his grip firm but not painful. 'I wouldn't,' he said as she looked up at him. 'Might get infected.'

'Oh,' she said softly, watching as he uncurled his fingers from around her wrists.

Hal glanced briefly over his shoulder, and Luce's attention followed. It was the first time she'd ever seen Thomas Shelby look shaken. It almost made him seem human.

Slowly, his attention shifted to Hal, and her.

'You all right?' he asked. He was clinging to Finn's hand as if that might somehow protect the boy from any further harm.

Luce merely nodded.

'She ain't,' said Hal simply, motioning to her hands. It was only then that she felt the sting of other wounds. An ache in her side; a jarring sensation in her wrists. 'Think Pol'll help?'

She could practically see the cogs whirring to life behind Tommy's eyes. 'Don't see why not,' he said simply, before gently guiding Finn away. 'Make sure Arthur knows, too.'

Luce's stomach plummeted. What would happen if she couldn't help at the Garrison anymore? Would they kick her out? Would –?

'Otherwise he might try getting rid of her for not working while they're healing.'

Tommy's voice was even, but she could have sworn there was a flicker of a smile on Hal's lips.

'Come on, the great Polly Gray awaits,' said Hal, standing up and offering her out a hand.

'But… my train,' she said, suddenly feeling a great longing for getting out of the city for a while. She stood up, unassisted.

Hal merely shrugged. 'There'll be another one,' was all he said on the matter before motioning her the way that Tommy and Finn had gone.

'So, who are you?' Aunt Polly said, flitting about the kitchen. She was sorting through the first aid things. Stanley couldn't quite believe that she was actually helping Luce, that she seemed to be following through on her maternal instinct for a complete stranger. Then again, Tommy had come in, dropped Finn off and said that she should help before he disappeared. There had been something so haunted behind his eyes that Stan didn't think anyone would have argued with anything.

'Luce,' she said, her attention on her hands. Stan could feel the tension coming off his friend in waves. She was uncertain about being so close to the Shelby family; Stanley really couldn't blame her. But there was something else. Probably the after effects of dealing with a grenade. He doubted it was like anything she'd seen before. 'I – I know Stanley.'

'And she's got rooms at the Garrison,' added Hal, swirling water around the bottom of his glass. Since he'd got back the man hadn't looked away from Finn. The boy was playing in a corner, not fully understanding what the fuss was about, but not quite doing anything to push against it either. A blessing that Stan couldn't ignore.

Polly's hands stilled, and Stan felt a ripple of unease go down his back.

But, she turned and settled opposite Luce.

The redhead flinched ever so slightly, and Stan instantly put a hand on her shoulder.

'I ain't gonna bite,' Polly said, holding out a hand for Luce.

Hesitantly, Lucinda rested her hand in the upturned palm. The wounds were still leaking slightly, dirt mixed in with the blood. It turned Stan's stomach to see it. He tightened his grip on Luce's shoulder ever so slightly.

'You fell pretty hard,' noted Polly, nodding briefly to Hal. 'You might want to drink something before I clean them.'

Luce's attention finally lifted from her hand. Her chin jutted ever so slightly and she met Aunt Pol's eye with some unwavering certainty. 'I'll be fine,' she said; though, the waver to her voice gave her fears away.

Polly surveyed her carefully before nodding ever so slightly. Stan could have sworn that there was a flicker of respect behind her eyes before she carefully pressed the cloth to Luce's upturned palm.

Luce tensed under Stan's hand. Her other hand balled into a fist before quickly releasing it as if knowing that it would only make things worse. But, despite it all, she didn't make a sound. Her attention remained resolutely on Polly, as if daring her to make a comment.

Stan could have sworn that he heard Hal let out a low whistle, but he dare not turn around.

'Get me some bandages, Stanley,' Polly said, carefully wiping Luce's hand. 'You're going to need to change them every day. Wash the wounds. Make sure there's no infection.'

'I got enough scrapes as a kid,' Luce said softly as Stanley gathered up an armful of bandages from the side, 'I think I can cope.'

He dropped the gauze on the table and saw Polly nod; saw a flicker of a smile across her lips. Perhaps there were some members of the Shelby family that Luce might get on with. Stanley just hoped that this wasn't all some game of Tommy's. But right now he couldn't think of that. He sat in the seat beside Luce, rested his hands on the table close to hers and tapped the fingers of his left hand against the knuckles of his right, waiting for Aunt Pol to tell him how he could help.

Luce looked down at the bandages wrapping her hands. They were still slightly sore, she could still feel the scabs pulling ever so slightly on her skin, felt the irritating itch that it took all her willpower not to yield to. But they were better than they could have been. Polly really had worked some magic on them, and her strange herbal concoction had helped to alleviate a little of the other aches Luce had felt, something that she was grateful for. The woman had even come to Charlie's yard the day after to check she was all right. Luce didn't bother to ask if Stanley had asked her to do it, she just assumed.

'You still slacking?' teased Grace, causing Luce to look up sharply. The woman was carrying a crate of cigarettes, balanced gently on her hip. There was, despite how heavy it looked, a smirk on her face that showed no strain.

'Of course not,' said Luce, jumping off the bar stool and grabbing the cloth. It was about the only thing she could do at the moment, wipe down the surfaces. She'd tried sweeping the evening after it had happened, but Arthur had caught her as the blood seeped through the bandages. He told her not to be an idiot, to count the money instead.

It hadn't been fun, but at least it hadn't hurt so much.

Now, she was eager to get back to earning her keep again. She didn't like the idea of owing the Shelbys, and she was beginning to start worrying that at this rate it might be happening without her really meaning it to.

'Just needed to make sure the bandages were good.'

Grace shot her a small smile, one that was filled with something like pity, before she called out to their boss, 'These cigarettes have a strange smell, Arthur. They smell like rotting water. And look. Rats have gotten to some of them.'

Luce hummed softly as she started to wipe down the first of the tables, moving the empty glasses onto another. Grace would have to pick them up later, Luce's hands were still not quite gripping things the way she wanted them to. She could vaguely hear the others talking, knew that Arthur was probably asking about the maths again. Eventually, she'd work up the courage to offer her help on more than a sporadic basis. But not yet. For now, she'd let Grace help him.

So she cleaned. She tried not to think about the uncomfortable memories the grenade had stirred up for her. Nightmares had kept her up for the past couple of nights; nightmares that she was pretty sure the candles weren't helping with, but then neither was the darkness. There was no winning. The only person who had ever helped to ease them was impossible to reach.

'A precise man, your brother,' Grace said as she left the little office, and Luce didn't have too much trouble figuring out which Shelby she was talking about.

'Is my adding up right?' called Arthur.

'It is now,' Grace assured him, sharing a small smirk with Luce.

'Do you think we should get him an calculator for his birthday or something?' Luce asked, frowning in the direction of the office.

Grace scoffed, but there was a distant look in her eyes that Luce had never seen before. One that made her certain the older woman needed a moment alone with her thoughts. And Luce was happy to oblige.

Nonetheless, she couldn't shake the idea of getting Arthur something to help with the adding up. Was it safer than offering to help herself? She didn't know, and for the moment it was another thing that she wasn't prepared to risk. For now, it would remain an idle idea that she didn't act upon.

'Oi, get back here!' Hal shouted, grabbing for the small child that skittered through the house. The little boy grabbed the railing, hauled himself into the living room, and then was off once more, bare feet padding on the floor. 'Oh, come on! For –'

'You're not swearing around those kids, are you, Henry?'

Cecily's voice floated in from the kitchen, and Hal found a small smirk slipping easily onto his face. The fact that she'd come back to help with this was something he was more than grateful for. The woman had never really seen eye-to-eye with the Shelbys, but despite her hard exterior she had a fondness for kids that she couldn't ignore. A fondness that she'd kick the hell out of anyone for mentioning because it went against the mask she wore so often.

'Course not, Cece,' he said, pulling his waistcoat a little straighter before heading into the room. Vic could wait.

Cecily was flitting around the place, trying to get the odd piece of clutter tidied. There was a buzz of energy in the air, something sparking that Hal couldn't quite put his finger on. Despite the darkened skies it was as if no one had quite told Cecily it was a thing to concern her. Not told her that soon she'd have to rest, and the remainder of the tidying would have to wait.

'You putting them to bed or exciting them?' she asked, barely looking over her shoulder at him.

'Both?' he tried.

Cecily's look turned cold. 'You promised John.'

Hal nodded, unbuttoned his waistcoat and he wandered towards her. 'Why don't you put them to bed, and I'll do this?'

Cece scoffed, shook her head ever so slightly. 'I'd end up doing both still,' she said, her lilting Welsh accent a little harder now there was a flicker of irritation, however mild, behind her voice.

'Come on, Cece. You know they like it better when you read the stories,' he tried, glancing briefly at the clock. It was already quarter past eleven, already way past the time he'd started playing this game of bedtime with them. They really were slightly unruly without the calming presence of Martha.

It took only a moment for Cecily to sigh; for her to throw one of the discarded toys into the toy box. 'You owe me.'

'I'll take you to that fancy restaurant you love so much,' Hal vowed.

Cecily didn't look convinced, but she shimmied passed him nonetheless.

'If you aren't in bed in five minutes,' she called, 'you're missing out on story time!'

There was a groan from the other room; complaints mingled with excited chatter before the sound of three sets of running footsteps echoed through the house; Katie had obviously picked up the babe. The only positive for the late hour was that the dogs had decided to take themselves to bed. The rowdy kids would never rouse them.

Hal felt a small smile slip onto his face. He really hoped that everything worked out for John and Lizzie. His friend deserved a little happiness in his life; a little help with everything since Martha's passing.

If Lizzie Stark was that woman for him, Hal was going to do everything he could to help John get his own way. Thomas Shelby's aversion of the situation be damned.

Stanley flattened the cap on his head a little more firmly. He thought he looked ridiculous, wearing the uniform of his brothers' gang, but it had been one thing Tommy said he needed to do. He knew that Arthur had put the blades in the peak, despite his own protests about the fact. They were like an odd weight to an already strange thing. He could never quite forget that they were there.

'Out you get, boys,' Arthur said as he, Tommy and Stan rounded the corner. All of the men were armed to the teeth.

_Ready for war_, Stanley thought as fear spiked down his back.

'Ready, boys?' asked Tommy, and Stan felt his stomach knotting. Did he really need to be here? But there was no time to ask, Tommy's attention was on John. 'John, you ready?'

'Yeah. Yeah I'm fine,' said John.

'Have a drink,' instructed Arthur, offering the hip flask across.

John took a swing before handing it back. Arthur then turned to Stan and held the thing out. 'You need some?'

Stan shook his head, and Arthur shrugged before recorking the thing.

'What?' asked John, pulling Stanley's attention back that way. 'What are you all staring at me for? What?'

Hal clapped his friend on the back. Obviously in on the whole thing. But there was a slight tightness to his jaw; whatever was about to happen, Hal wasn't happy about it. And yet, there appeared to be nothing that he could do to stop it. Which meant one thing: this was a Tommy plan.

Once again, Stan felt as though he was missing out on the punchline of a joke. This time, however, he didn't feel too bad about it.

'Good. Let's go,' said Tommy.

'What're we here for?' Stan asked in a hushed whisper, tugging at the elbow of Hal's jacket.

'Don't you worry,' said Hal, but his hand was sitting on his gun. His attention darting all over the place, as if he were searching for signs of an ambush. 'Just stick close.'

'Why?' asked Stanley, his own attention flitting about the place. He vaguely recognised some of the Lees from when they'd collected the horse.

It was as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over him.

'Come on, keep walking,' Hal said gently, guiding him by the elbow.

'Tommy, what you playing at? We're in shotgun range,' said John, his attention momentarily going over his shoulder. His eye caught Stan's, and for a second he thought he could see fear spark to life behind his brother's eyes.

The little procession slowed. Hal let go of Stan, allowing him to join his brothers. He stuck a little closer to Arthur's shoulder, allowed the feeling of his biggest brother looking out for him to comfort him like a blanket.

'John,' said Tommy, moving closer, 'before you go into battle, there's something you are going to need.' He took a white flower out of his pocket, and it was only then that Stanley spotted the other Blinders all getting their own flowers out.

Arthur passed a spare to Stan.

'Sorry, brother,' Arthur said, clapping him gently on the shoulder, 'thought you'd let slip.'

'Hey!' complained Stanley, but he knew it was only in jest. This was dangerous territory. He wondered who had argued the case for him to join in; who had thought he should be left behind like Finn. He wasn't sure which of them to thank in any case.

'What you bloody doing, Tommy?' asked John as their brother fitted the flower himself.

Tommy cupped John's face. 'Smile, John, it's a wedding.'

'Whose bloody wedding?' asked John, and Stanley looked briefly to Hal, to Arthur. He had a bad feeling about all this.

'Now if we'd told ya, you couldn't have come,' reasoned Tommy. 'There's a girl from the Lee family who's gone a bit wild. And she needs marrying off.'

'Fuck,' swore John, before pushing Tommy away.

Someone caught Stan by the scruff of the neck, pulled him out of the rabble of a fight that started up as Arthur tried to stop John from running off.

'Wait. John!' said Tommy once the younger man was facing him, the boys holding him in place; Arthur with a hand at the base of his neck. John gripped the front of Tommy's jacket.

Stan looked up to see that it was Hal keeping him away from the ruckus. But he could see the sparkle of distaste behind the man's eyes. At least Stan wasn't alone in thinking that this was a terrible idea. It was like they'd gone back in time.

'You have no, no bloody right, Tommy!'

'Sshh,' soothed Tommy, putting his hands around the back of John's head, forcing him to focus. 'Listen to me. Listen to me. A girl who needs a husband. A man who needs a wife.'

'Tommy, I'm not bloody marrying some fucking mushroom picker!'

'Shh, John boy, come on. Listen. I've already betrothed ya,' said Tommy simply, finally relinquishing his hold on their brother. The other's followed suit, other than Arthur who kept his hand on John's back, fingers digging into the crook of his neck; Stanley could see the strain. 'So if you back out now there's going to be one fucking mighty war breaking out here that's going to make the Somme… It's gonna make the Somme look like some fucking tea party.'

Stan's attention snapped to Hal, who looked stony-faced.

Tommy's attention skimmed almost imperceptibly towards Stan. The gesture was all it took for the realisation to dawn on John too. The others had seen war, they'd seen battle. Stanley had no idea what they might be getting into.

The knot of dread in his stomach tightened.

'But,' continued Tommy, as if the little moment hadn't happened, as if Stanley wasn't now looking around fearful of an ambush, 'if you marry her, our family and the Lee family will be united forever. And this war will be over.' He thumped John on the chest. 'Now it's up to you John. War or peace?'

John let out a breath before turning his rage on Curly. 'Let go of me,' he snapped. He looked to Tommy, to Arthur, and then finally his attention slipped over to Stanley himself. Stan had never felt smaller. Tommy had brought him to this as one last bargaining chip. This was nothing to do with him being present for the wedding, and everything to do with the fact that Thomas Shelby understood what he needed to do to get his own way.

Or at least, that's how it was beginning to feel.

And then, John nodded. Tommy clapped him on the shoulder, but John shifted away quicker than normal, started marching towards the caravans, towards the wedding that would change his life, and hopefully the lives of the others, for good.

'Right,' said Arthur, hand firmly on John's shoulder now. Stanley walked with his brothers, his attention straying every so often to Tommy, trying to figure out how he was supposed to feel about everything that had happened. 'You should see the size of her dowry.'

'Her what?' asked John.

'What her family give you for marrying her,' Stanley said, feeling the hollowness to his own voice.

Tommy's attention caught him for a moment before he was focused on John again. But there was no ignoring the look, no misreading the intention of a later conversation to happen.

'Her dad's giving you a car,' Tommy told John, a smile spreading easily across his face.

But the amusement didn't last long. They reached the caravan in question, a woman stood in the doorway, Johnny Dogs stood on the ground beside her. 'Will he do?' Tommy asked, gesturing to John as if he were merely a horse up for sale.

A tense silence filled the camp. Stan had to fight his will not to look around. Not to see if anyone was taking aim for them, ready to shatter this peace in an instant.

'He'll do,' the woman said, drawing Stanley back to the moment.

A cheer rose up from the Blinders, from the Lees, and for a moment Stanley wondered if perhaps Tommy hadn't made the right choice. That this was the only way they could finally bridge the gap between two warring families.

'Here she is,' Tommy said, nodding through the crowd that were waiting for the bride-to-be. Hal had kept close to Stan the whole time, but hovered near John as well. It was as if he wanted to say something but dare not. Not while they were in, for the moment, enemy territory.

'She'd better be under fifty,' said John.

'Wait, you didn't want the oldest woman?' teased Hal, earning a whack around the back of the head from John. He smirked, but Stanley still felt a slight strain behind the gesture. One that he was almost certain the others were missing, their focus on what this wedding might mean.

'Come here,' said Tommy, tapping John's face so that he was looking at him. He plucked the chewed match from John's mouth and threw it aside. 'Go on.'

Arthur patted John on the back before he made his way over to the alter.

'We're here today,' started Johnny Dogs, but Stan's attention shifted. Ada and Polly had arrived, walking arm-in-arm. He felt a little of his tension subsiding. There was no way Ada would be there if there was the slightest chance of danger. Polly wouldn't have allowed it.

Polly kept walking though, she placed herself on Stanley's other side, gently looped her arm through his.

'Smile, it's a wedding,' she said softly, not taking her eyes off the ceremony.

'I know,' he whispered back, patting her arm carefully and trying for a small smile.

He watched on, watched as the blood was mingled and the cheers rose up through the camp. Watched as the Shelbys and the Lees took the final step into creating peace between their families.

He just hoped that it was worth it.

The party was in full swing. Hal stood off to one side, watching carefully. He hadn't touched a drop of alcohol, despite John's attempts to lure him ('It's my fucking wedding day, Hal!' he'd complained, but even drunk the teasing lilt to his voice was a relief). The music filled the air; fireworks lit the sky; it was like nothing Hal had ever been a part of before. It was incredible.

'… He hunts his own sister down like a rat,' he heard Ada yelling. Hal didn't waste any time. He patted Curly once on the back, the man hadn't been able to take his drink, and hurried back to the main bulk of the party. Ada stood in the middle of the crowd, hitting Tommy with every new accusation she threw his way. 'And he tries to kill his own brother-in-law.'

Polly was on the other side of Ada, trying to stop her bombardment.

'Ada, that's enough,' said Arthur sharply.

Hal shifted to stand protectively beside Stanley. The boy looked as though he were about ready to drop off to sleep, but there was a new flicker of alertness behind his eyes at the conflict.

'Ada, hush now,' soothed Polly.

'And now,' Ada went on, as if nothing else mattered but getting the words out, 'he won't let me have a fucking dance! Not even at a fucking wedding!'

'Sit her down,' snapped John, standing a little in front of Esme, already seeming to fall into the role of husband.

'Calm down, Ada. Ada, calm down,' soothed Polly.

But all Ada's rage had turned into something else. She was breathing heavily, one hand on her belly.

'Holy shit! Water. Right,' said Polly, instantly taking control. Hal pulled Stanley aside, making way for the woman who now looked as though she had a mission.

'Not now, Ada,' said Arthur. 'Bloody hell, you do pick ya times!'

'Stan, with me,' Tommy said as they reached the cars. 'Hal, take Ada and Pol.' His tone left no room for argument. It was as if Ada wasn't going into labour, as if the whole wedding wasn't turning into a birth as well. He was Thomas Shelby, in control until the ends of the earth.

Hal just nodded before helping Ada into his car. There was no discussion. No question why one of the brothers wasn't driving. Why Tommy had wanted to be with Stan. There was too much going on for any of it, but Stan felt the ripple of unease across his skin.

He slipped carefully into the family car, watched as Hal sped off; as John got used to his newly owned car, his wife and brother with him.

And then, everything was slipping by quickly. Tommy was silent, his attention on the road, on making sure that they took the corners fast enough for people to know it was important, but not so fast that they'd die.

'I needed you here, Stan,' Tommy said eventually, not looking around. 'No harm was going to come to you.'

'How do you know?' Stan asked, hearing the waver of fear behind his own voice. He didn't bother asking Tommy how he knew what was worrying him, didn't bother questioning the certainty behind his brother's voice. There was no time for that now. There were other more concerning things to think about.

Like the fact their sister had gone into labour.

'You're a kid,' Tommy said simply, before turning his attention to Stan, fixing him with a gaze so filled with assurance that Stanley almost believed it. 'And I wouldn't have let it happen.'

Stanley opened his mouth but no words came out. He firmly shut it again, turned to watch the darkness whizzing by.

'Keep the hat, Stan. You're a Shelby. You should –'

'I know I am,' Stanley said, an odd kind of bitterness coming out behind his words. 'But that doesn't mean I'm like you. I can't fight, Tom. I just… I can't.'

'And you don't need to,' Tommy said, giving the back of Stanley's neck a reassuring squeeze. 'Just, remind people of who you are. Make sure they don't mess with you, because taking you on means they take on the rest of the Peaky Blinders.'

There was something behind Tom's voice that Stanley couldn't quite place. Something that worried him slightly.

But it was too late for more questions, they'd arrived, and they needed to help Ada.

'Story of your fucking life, Arthur,' Stan heard John teasing, voices raised loud enough to wake the whole street, he guessed. Tommy and he had helped Ada into the house, gone outside so that Tommy could light a cigarette, and only now had the others arrived.

'Right, we're here,' said Arthur as he, John and Esme piled out of the car.

'Nice car, John,' greeted Tommy. 'How's she run?'

'Yeah beautiful. Really smooth,' John admitted, patting the car affectionately.

'Your sister's in there giving birth, you're talking about the bloody car,' complained Aunt Polly.

'Not much us men can do now, Pol,' Tommy reasoned.

'Except go get drunk,' Arthur said as Esme hurried into the house.

'Right,' said Tommy, patting Stanley on the shoulder, 'come on.'

'There's one man should be here,' noted Polly, giving Tommy pause.

He turned to face her before he spoke. 'You're right, Pol. Freddie should be here.'

'Is that a heartbeat I hear inside that chest?' teased Aunt Polly.

'The truce lasts till sunrise. On my oath,' Tommy vowed, before nodding towards Hal. 'Bring him here. Tell Freddie it's safe.'

Hal nodded before walking back to his own car. But Stanley was still watching Aunt Pol. A warm smile spread quickly across her face, one that made him feel a little less worried about everything.

'Right, boys,' said Tommy, motioning for Stanley to come with them as they headed off, 'let's wet this baby's head.'

'To beautiful women,' slurred Arthur, holding his glass up in a toast.

Stanley could feel his own world shifting with the alcohol he'd consumed. It started with a toast for John; then a toast to the new baby, and before he knew it his brothers had managed to get him drunk. He couldn't remember much from then on – had there been three drinks, or four? – but it didn't matter. Things were right with the world. He was with his big brothers, after all. They wouldn't let anything happen to him. No matter what, they would always look out for him in their own ways.

John downed his whiskey; put the glass down heavily on the table. Stanley felt as though he could feel the vibration from the wood up his arms.

'Oh I – I should go,' slurred John. 'I should go. It's me wedding night.'

'Nah, no, you sit down,' said Arthur, clapping him on the back as Grace tidied away some of the glasses. 'You don't want to be among the women when there's a baby coming.'

'Do you think Luce and Grace should be there, Tom?' Stanley asked, smirking slightly at the sound of his own slurred words.

'So, do you think her husband will take the same advice and stay away?' asked Grace, cutting off any answer, and Stan rolled his head against the wall to look at her properly. He felt Tommy patting his shoulder, but it was distant somehow.

'Nah. Nah. Freddie'll be there. Nothing will keep him away,' John said. 'Tommy's said it's all right for him t'be there. And Hal'll haul him there if he has ta. Isn't that right, Tommy?'

'That's right. I'm all heart tonight,' said Tommy; sounding the most sober out the lot of them. He cleared his throat, took a sip as Grace left the room, the door left open behind her.

'You – you know what, John boy?' asked Arthur, pointing to Tommy. 'I think it's that lovely barmaid, that pretty barmaid that's just walked out that's made our brother go all soft.'

'Drinks to that,' slurred John.

Tommy chuckled, and for once Stanley felt as though things were how they had been. That the War hadn't changed things too much.

It was with that thought that he took another drink, not bothering to think of the consequences in the morning. Just enjoying the time he got to spend with the others, hoping the evening would go on forever.


	5. Chapter Five: Family Links

The place was alive with noise. There was something about the atmosphere that had Hal's blood singing. He craved the action, craved the fight that the ring promised, but knew that they weren't there for that. It was one of the things he'd have to find an outlet for soon. Maybe a place like this wouldn't be so bad.

'He's off the bloody rails, is what he is,' said John as they walked through the Warehouse, towards where the fight was meant to be happening. 'If he'll turn nose on his best mate…' His attention skimmed ever so slightly towards Hal.

'I went and got him,' Hal said softly, turning his attention towards the ring, where the fight was already happening; figures blurred by movement and the roaring crowd. 'That's it. And Tommy went with you. Think I did it?' There was a sliver of ice behind his voice, one that he'd tried to keep back for the past couple of hours. Since the speculations had started into how Freddie Thorne had been arrested at the birth of his own kid.

He knew John meant little by the accusation, it was his own fears taking the reins, but that didn't stop it from smarting ever so slightly.

'It was bloody neighbours, John,' insisted Arthur. 'Snitch behind the curtain.'

'Yeah, well if you think that, you're the only one that does,' murmured John.

'Look at this,' said Arthur, swiftly changing the conversation before Hal could mention his own thoughts. 'Look. Bloody raking it in. Who's running this carny?' He turned his attention to Johnny Dogs as they reached his little group.

'Name of Marston,' Johnny told them, rattling off the facts. 'Intends on wintering in Small Heath with this ring.'

'Does he!' said Arthur, starting towards the ring once more.

'Ain't he heard nobody in Small Heath craps in a pot without the decree of Tommy Almighty?'

'John,' complained Hal softly. He knew that his friend was having issues with his older brother, knew that the whole arranged marriage must have still been lingering at the edges of his mind, it was certainly still souring some of Hal's thoughts, no matter how well Esme and John got on. No matter how many times Cecily seemed to smile when she spoke of the woman and how she calmed the kids. 'And how do we know Tommy doesn't know?'

The flicker of an old smirk on John's face was enough to reassure Hal things weren't so bad.

'Mr. Marston, I believe? The ringmaster?' Arthur said in lieu of greeting, his voice rising above the ruckus of the fight itself. This side of the ring was darker than the other, as if the leaders didn't want to see what was going on. Or, they didn't want people seeing them.

'Proud I am to say so,' Marston said as Arthur stood directly in front of him. Hal tucked his hands into his pockets, watching on. But his gaze kept flicking around to the others, trying to see if they were preparing to defend their boss or not. Did they even know who they were dealing with?

'Yeah, well, these here are civilised parts,' Arthur said, reaching down to grab himself a drink of whiskey. 'Man wants to set his stall up with fellas lamping each other, he needs himself a licence.'

'A licence?' asked Marston, and the fear behind his eyes was obvious. It seemed to make his ruddy cheeks stand out a little more.

'For a fee. From those in charge,' Arthur went on, pouring the alcohol on the floor as a cheer went up from the ring.

'I'll tell you what,' Marston tried to reason. 'How about I keep my money, and you shove a licence up your arsecrack?'

Hal let out a low whistle, exchanged a small smirk with John.

'You don't want to speak to me like that,' said Arthur in little more than a growl.

'And who the bloody hell do you think you are?' There was ice behind Marston's voice now.

But something had caught Hal's attention. He glanced towards the ring, felt the room's attention shifting there as well. Someone was shouting over the noise. A voice that Hal vaguely recognised from his childhood.

'My name! My name is Arthur Shelby!' someone called, the harsh Irish accent something that Hal had had trouble deciphering when he first went over to the Shelbys' house.

'Dad?' asked Arthur, causing the man who was drinking to face him.

There was a moment of silence, the realisation dawning on Arthur Shelby Sr.. And then, a wide grin spread onto his face.

'Jesus,' he said.

Stanley stood on the other side of the room, his attention on his father, trying to make sense of seeing him sitting there after so long of him not being there. Aunt Pol was standing close by, hands on hips and eyes narrowed on Arthur Shelby Sr.. Arthur put a plate of food down; Finn looked to John as if seeking an answer for how he was meant to react, but he got nothing.

Stan just hoped that Tommy would get there soon. For some reason, Hal had come to collect him first. To soften the blow?

'Thank you. You are a good boy,' their father said, his attention on Arthur. Arthur was sitting on the other side of the table in an instant. 'Bless you,' their dad started praying, 'Father, for these bounties we are about to receive –'

'Jesus Christ,' swore Aunt Polly, resting her arm on the chest of drawers and putting her hand to her head.

'Please, woman,' their father said, voice so patronising it sent a shiver of dislike down Stan's back, 'not in vain.'

'Finish your sandwich and sling your hook,' Polly said simply.

'Pollyanna,' said their father, waving the knife as if it were only an idle threat, 'I'm the guest of the head of this family, so why don't you tend to your mangle or your scuttle?'

Stanley stood a little straighter, but Polly's attention flicked warningly to him. He stilled, but he felt the weight of his father's look on him as well, knew the gesture hadn't gone unnoticed. An anger he didn't realise he had seemed to curl on his chest, waiting for some kind of outlet, or to be doused completely.

'The head of the family ain't here,' noted John. Whatever irritation he had at Tommy paled in comparison to that he had for their father. He lent back against the china cabinet, Finn now close to him.

An awkward silence filled the room, one that Arthur filled. 'Tommy… he sometimes helps me with, er, with business.'

A door opened, closed quickly again.

'Ah. Well. Speak of the devil,' their father said, a note of something behind his voice that Stan couldn't place. He put the knife down and stood up. 'How are you, son?'

Tommy shook his head, a look of disbelief on his face. He nodded to the door. 'Get out.'

Their father looked wounded. 'Come on, son. I'm a changed man.'

'This family needed you ten years ago when you walked out on it,' Tommy reminded him. 'Not now. Get out of this house.'

'Tommy,' said Arthur, not looking up from the table, 'he's different.'

'Shut up,' barked Tommy.

Again, silence filled the room for the briefest of moments. The tension rose.

'It's all right, son,' their father said. 'Arthur Shelby never stays where he is not welcome.' He folded his coat over his arm, his attention lingering on Tommy. 'Quite something you've become.' And then, he left, his attention lingering on each of his sons. He only ruffled Finn's hair as he passed. 'Goodbye, son.'

John tugged Finn's shoulder so that he didn't watch their father leave; didn't follow a man he didn't know purely because they shared blood.

Silence rose again, pressing in on Stanley until he couldn't bare it. He took a step closer to Arthur, but he saw Tommy shake his head almost imperceptibly.

'He's our dad,' said Arthur, the pain lingering behind his voice broke Stanley's heart.

Tommy huffed out an exasperated breath. 'He's a selfish bastard.'

'You calling someone a selfish bastard?' asked Arthur in a dangerously low voice. 'That's a bit rich, Tommy. I mean, thanks to you… we're already down a bloody sister. And I don't think Stan's too far behind.'

'Tommy –' started Stan, but he didn't know what to say, and Tommy's attention was elsewhere.

'If you want to see him, Arthur... You want to see him? You go with him,' said Tommy, pointing to the door that their father had left through. Again.

Arthur stood up quickly, got in Tommy's face. But he didn't say anything. Somehow, that was worse. He slipped through passed Polly and followed after their father.

Staley stood on the edge of going with him. Of making sure that his brother wasn't alone with their father. He'd been about five when he'd left, not quite old enough to remember how bad it had been, but old enough to know that something had been wrong. To remember that Arthur had been cut up about the whole thing, more so than any of the others.

But, one look to Polly, to the unbridled hatred behind her eyes, and Stanley couldn't do it. He sighed, sank back a little more against the wall. He couldn't wait to get back to the yard, to help Curly with looking after the horses, to joke with Luce about the callouses that now riddled her hands from all the work with the ropes. At least those were things he understood, things that would take his thoughts far from the fact that their father was back, and that could only mean trouble.

Luce hummed softly as she swept. Her hands were better, the scars lingered but they didn't annoy her as much as before. The only reason she hadn't headed to the yard yet was because Grace was dealing with the money. It didn't sit right with her letting the woman stay in the pub alone while doing the accounts. Not that she could do much, but she felt better about being there.

'How's things been?' she asked, sweeping some glass towards the Shelbys' door, out of the way for the moment.

'Odd,' was all Grace said on the matter. 'Some –'

The sound of the door being pushed open forced their attention that way. Luce gripped the broom a little tighter. She felt the panic rising in her chest.

'Arthur,' she breathed when she spotted the owner. Oddly, there was a comfort in it being him.

He nodded to her, walked straight for the till, barely stepping over her collection of broken glass. 'Grace, I'm taking five pounds from petty cash all right?'

'We don't have five pounds in petty cash,' Grace said simply.

'Well then I'll take what we've got.'

'Count it and leave a receipt,' said Grace, turning her attention back to the books.

Luce sighed, crouched to collect the broken glass in the apron she'd fashioned herself for exactly that.

'Arthur,' said Grace after a moment, 'there are some things in these books that I don't understand.'

'Likewise,' said Arthur, and Luce heard the sound of him pouring liquid into a glass. She busied herself with moving out the back, with brushing the glass carefully off the material, trying not to open any of her cuts. Despite everything, she didn't fancy dealing with the wrath that she would probably incur from Polly for that. Odd how the woman had helped, had come to check on things; there was no real reason to fear Polly Gray, and yet a part of Luce did.

'Every week,' came Grace's voice softly, 'we pay one pound ten shillings by postal order to a "Daniel Owen" in London.'

'Danny Whizz Bang, hangs around the pubs in Camden Town Wharf for us,' said Arthur after a second, and Luce knew that he'd been making sure she wasn't listening in. But their voices carried, and the reminder of her home had her frozen by the door, unable to not listen and unable to move away either. 'He keeps his ears open for business. He's a good man.'

'I thought Danny Whizz Bang was dead.'

'Then you thought wrong, didn't ya?' said Arthur evenly.

'But I've seen his grave,' noted Grace. 'He – he was shot.'

'That was a show to satisfy the wops.' Luce's stomach knotted. People had called Sy a wop far too many times for her to count. It constantly set her teeth on edge, but he never seemed to mind it. He brushed it off. But, those people tended to end up with bloody noses not five minutes later. 'Tommy just shot some sheep's brains at him.'

It felt as though the world had tilted beneath Luce's feet. Her thoughts snapped back to that day in the yard. Her first day in the city, when she'd seen Tommy shoot a man. He'd told her even then that it wasn't real, but the comment hadn't rung true.

Now it all made sense.

And yet, the blood still pounded in her ears. The thought of someone in London, feeding information back to Thomas Shelby, was an odd one to contemplate. Especially if they were in Camden. If he thought to ask the right questions…

But he was Thomas Shelby. He'd probably make the link, probably figure it out.

And then what? Would he think that she was doing the same thing as Danny for Sabini? It wasn't like people didn't know about her links to Sy, and his to the Italian family that were making waves down there. However hard Sy had tried to keep his two lives separate there was always something that lingered. A knowledge that was difficult to forget about.

She sucked in a deep breath, tried to force her breathing even. This wasn't helping anything, especially not her.

'And don't tell Tommy I took this!' she heard Arthur shout, before she finally moved out of the backroom, the broom held tightly in her hands.

It was only as the doors closed that Grace looked towards her. For a moment, she almost looked worried, but then she sighed. 'Do you want a hand tidying?'

Luce shook her head. 'It'll be done soon, but thank you.' She shot her a shaky smile, really hoping that the other woman would buy it, but seriously doubting it.

Stanley carefully picked the mud out of Monaghan Boy's front hoof. It was one of the things he'd been meaning to do but never got around to it. Between making sure the stables were clean, speaking to Curly, and Luce telling him about every adventure she planned to go on, it was difficult to remember things like this. Not that Curly wasn't doing them, it was just Stanley enjoyed doing it himself.

And yet today his thoughts kept swinging back to his father like some kind of pendulum. Every time he tried to focus on something else, to distract his concerns, his thoughts found his father once more. The father that had abandoned them and never once looked back.

The father that was now sucking their brother back to him. How long would it last? Had he actually changed, or –?

'You coming for lunch, or we staying here?' Luce's voice snapped Stan's thoughts away from his worries and towards her. She stood in the doorway of the stable, leaning a shoulder against the wood. She wore the familiar slacks of the stable yard, the boots that they'd stuffed with paper so they fitted tucked over the bottoms.

Stanley opened his mouth to answer, but shook his head and tried again. He didn't think he could deal with the city right now. 'Here. I should have a couple of…' His voice petered out as Luce held up her own makeshift bag. 'How'd you do that?'

She shrugged, turned on her heel and headed back outside.

Stan patted Monaghan Boy on the flank before hurrying after her, rubbing his hands clean on his trousers.

'Learnt it off a friend,' she told him, unwrapping the bundle to reveal two sandwiches. She put one firmly in front of him, but didn't touch her own. Instead she surveyed him as he sat down. Examining him almost. 'What's wrong?'

'N – nothing,' Stan spluttered, busying himself with checking the sandwich, making sure that there wasn't anything in it that he didn't like. 'What makes you say there's anything wrong?'

'The distant look behind your eyes. The slight furrow between your brows. The fact that you haven't asked if I made these or Grace did,' she rattled off, but despite the gentle teasing to her voice, there was a flicker of concern.

Stan didn't look up, he didn't trust himself not to see that flicker behind her eyes, not to find it and spill everything before he could stop himself. He tried to will up a little of the confidence he'd seen Tommy use on so many people.

'Don't know what you're talking about,' he said simply, before taking a savage bite of his sandwich, hoping to put the conversation at an end. 'What about with you?' he asked around his mouthful of food.

'Old memories,' was all she said, so softly that Stan looked up without thinking. The flicker of a smile was gone from her lips; there was a sadness behind her eyes that he suddenly felt responsible for. Guilt clawed at his throat.

He heaved a sigh, put the sandwich down and swallowed hard. He coughed slightly, took a swig of water, and then looked at her evenly. He'd give her time before he tried to stop her running; before he tried to help her with her own ghosts.

'My dad's back,' he told her. 'Which would be great and all if he hadn't left us ten years ago. Just walked off and now thinks he can come straight back.'

Luce hummed thoughtfully.

'It ain't good for Arthur.'

'What about the rest of you?' she asked softly, tilting her head a little to one side. She was surveying him again, but this time he didn't shrink away from it.

He just shrugged. 'Tommy hates it; John hates it; Finn didn't know him.'

'And you?'

Stanley had been thinking on that for a long time. The simple truth was that he wasn't sure. He remembered his dad lifting him onto his shoulders, showing him higher up things. But he also remembered his brothers doing that after the man had left. He remembered days of not seeing their father, days when his brothers had taught him things, like how to tie a tie.

Luce reached out and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. 'Maybe you'll figure it out the longer he's around,' she said.

Stan couldn't help but scoff, and shot her an apologetic look when she gave a slight start at the harshness of the sound.

'If he stays around,' was all he said before he turned his attention back to lunch, still not sure if he wanted his father around, or if he really would have rathered the man disappear again, for good this time.

In retrospect, Hal should have seen this little meeting coming. He should have known that, as soon as Freddie was picked up, suspicion would turn to him. But he'd followed Tommy's order to the letter. He'd driven Freddie there himself and then driven off to see Cece, knowing that this was a time for the family; and however close to them he was, he didn't want to get in the way.

Now, he cursed himself for his own naivety. It was all too simple to blame the outsider, even if he'd practically been family since he was four-years-old. Since he and John had made mud pies in the dirt and tried selling them. Since Polly had all but forced him into the house when she caught sight of the first bruise, even though he'd been so desperate to hide it.

Tommy blew out a long drag of his cigarette. Hal watched as the smoke floated through the air, as it twisted this way and that before finally dissipating.

'Did they pay you?' Tommy asked, not beating around the bush, going straight for the jugular.

Hal scoffed, his attention still on the water. He could hear the general sounds of the yard; knew that somewhere nearby Stan and Luce were probably chatting away, laughing, joking as they went about jobs that they scarcely got paid for. How long before that friendship was brought up for more questioning?

'I wouldn't deprive a man the chance to be a father,' Hal said evenly. 'Just because ours sucked, doesn't mean they all would.'

Tommy was pensively silent for a moment. Hal didn't feel the weight of his look on him, which he supposed was a good thing. Tommy wasn't trying to read him, wasn't trying to figure out what was going on inside his head. At least there was still that ounce of trust between the two of them.

'You didn't come celebrate.'

'I thought it was a family matter.'

Tommy grabbed the back of Hal's neck. Not hard, but not exactly gently either. The gesture forced Hal to look at him, forced him to recognise the flicker of almost confusion behind the other man's eyes.

'Are you not kin anymore, Henry?'

Hal scoffed, and this time there was actual humour behind the sound.

Tommy squeezed the back of his neck amicably. 'I know you didn't tell them where he was,' he said evenly. 'But somehow they knew exactly where he'd be.' Slowly, he let Hal go and tapped the ash off his cigarette onto the floor beside him.

'We just need to find out how.'

'We just need to find out how,' repeated Tommy, nodding his head ever so slightly, already lost in the world of his own scheming mind, somewhere that Hal couldn't, and wouldn't, follow.

The night had finally drawn in. The last of the patrons had gone and Luce had snuck in through the backdoor of the Garrison because she'd got distracted by the stars and was running late enough as it was. They had glimmered and shone brighter than ever before, and it had taken her breath away. The memory still brought a smile to her face, even if fear had niggled at the back of her mind, wondering when the zeppelins were going to shatter the façade of calm.

She tided some of the office, collecting a cup that Grace must have left there, as she headed through to the pub. Grace was already wiping down the work surfaces. She shot a small smile to Luce as she entered, as she wound her hair up into a bun on the top of her head.

'Busy day?' she asked, grabbing the broom from the side.

'As busy as ever,' Grace said simply. Silence fell between the two of them. Luce could feel a question building in the air, but couldn't figure out where it was coming from; what was causing it. 'How –?'

Grace didn't get to finish the question. A knocking cut her off, insistent and unrelenting.

They shared a brief look before Grace held a hand up to Luce, asking her to stay there.

Luce nodded, but she shifted the broom so as to use it as a possible weapon.

Grace hauled the door open. Thomas Shelby entered, looking rather more harassed than normal. For a moment, his attention snapped to her. Even under the shade of his hat's peak she could see that there was something unrecognisable behind his eyes.

'Leave,' he said simply.

Luce took a step backwards as if she'd been physically hit. 'I – I can't. I just got –'

'Lucinda, leave,' Tommy said, fixing his attention on her.

But that's when it clicked. The look behind his eyes was fear. They shone with the emotion that she never thought he'd be able to show. Unless it involved something happening to Finn or one of the others.

Panic clawed at her. For a moment she was frozen, trying not to let the thoughts of what might have happened crowd her too much. Then, she started for the stairs, but a hand caught her arm.

'Not there,' said Tommy as she turned on him quickly, as she pulled away sharply. Her fear was getting difficult to tame.

'Where will she go at this time?' Grace intervened, stepping between the two of them.

For a moment, Luce wondered if Tommy actually cared. If he wasn't turfing her out with no word of explanation, not that she would have been too surprised. But he sighed, ran a weary hand over his face. 'You know where the shop is, yes?'

'Yes,' said Luce, perplexed.

'Hal will be there, Stan too. And probably Polly. Go there. Tell them I sent ya,' Tommy said, before taking hold of her shoulder surprisingly gently and ushering her towards the doors. 'Don't come back tonight.'

'But – '

He gave her shoulder a warning squeeze. 'Now,' he said, pushing her ever so slightly.

Luce shot a worried look towards Grace, but there was a steel behind her eyes that assured Luce she would be all right. She quickly shot the woman a small smile before she hurried out into the night, hugging her arms around herself in an attempt to stave off the cold, to hold herself together as she worried about what the hell was going on, and what she'd just left Grace to.

The magic of the night had been sucked from it the minute Thomas Shelby entered the Garrison. Now, everything felt too pressing, and all at once too vast as well. Every open alleyway was a potential hiding spot. The drunken calls of people stumbling home made her fearful of the kinds of people that she might just walk directly into if she wasn't careful. Still, it was nowhere near as frightening as back home. Back when the threat of zeppelins hung over their heads, ready to prove to them all that the War wasn't only being fought in some foreign country they were safe from.

And yet, she'd got the strange feeling of the familiar as she walked. Occasionally she would notice people's attention stray to her before they looked away again sharply. As if they were afraid she would see them looking and do…

Do what though?

It had been the same in London. Everyone knew that she was friends with Sy.

_That I was protected._

A shiver ran down her spine at the thought. How could anyone think she was protected here though? Yes, she was friends with Stanley, but the Garrison had become her home under Harry's word, not the Shelby family. So why was it all so strikingly familiar?

She shook her head clear, and her thoughts went back to Grace. To the fact that she was alone in the Garrison with Tommy who looked as though anything might happen.

For a moment, she contemplated going back. Contemplated refusing to leave, Tommy be damned. But she was already outside the shop. The street was quiet around her, and she knew that if she headed back now the fearful thoughts would swarm her again. This time, they might even win.

And yet, she couldn't knock on the door. She couldn't cause a ruckus and wake the family, no matter what Thomas Shelby told her she could do.

She hovered on the pavement, hand raised to the door but unable to actually knock.

'You know,' came a slow voice, pulling her attention sharply to the street behind her; a yawning, cavernous space ready to devour her, 'knocking actually requires a little contact with the door.'

'Hal,' she breathed, finding an odd kind of comfort at the sight of the man. He might have been part of the Shelbys but he'd looked out for the Garrison, and in a way he'd looked out for her, too. 'I – I didn't want to wake anyone.'

'Then why're you here?' he asked, taking a step towards the door, pulling out his own key and putting it in the lock. He didn't turn it, not yet, his attention curiously on her.

'Tommy told me to come,' she said, feeling slightly awkward about not having called him "Mr. Shelby" but also knowing that the formality no longer felt quite right either. 'Something's happening at the Garrison.'

She could see the look of conflict behind Hal's eyes, even in the dim light of the nearby streetlamp. Too long in darkened streets made it easier to see by night. It was a skill that she hadn't quite been able to shake yet, one that she wasn't entirely sure she would want to anyway.

Eventually, he sighed and turned the key. 'Come on. You can take my bed, there's a sofa with my name on it.'

'No, I couldn't possibly –'

'Luce, trust me, take the bed,' he said, and there was something behind his voice that left no room for argument.

She nodded ever so slightly. 'Thanks,' she said softly before stepping past him, half wondering if she wouldn't have been better heading to the yard and sleeping in the stable.

Stan chuckled, shook his head ever so slightly as Luce shrugged. The joke was terrible, but she'd laughed all the way through it. It could have been irritating, but there was something endearing about the way she was so lost in the moment that he couldn't help but be swept up in the whole thing too.

It was as if her concerns of the evening before were completely forgotten. She'd checked on Grace, got some spare clothes, and then come back to the house with a bar of chocolate as a thank you to Hal for letting her nick his bed. It had been a shock, knowing that she'd been there, that Aunt Pol had offered her tea and company in the morning before Tommy came in and assured her she could head back. But Stanley was grateful for the moment of compassion that his brother had shown, even if he dare not ask what happened to have made it necessary for Luce to leave while Grace stayed.

The station itself wasn't packed, and Stan forced himself to think about that. In fact, it was quieter than he'd imagined. Luce had assured him that it would be empty, that it was still too early for most people to be travelling. But she'd wanted to go early, wanted to explore; probably wanted to get away from the memories and confusion of the night before. And he hadn't been able to let her go alone.

But, as they rushed up the stairs, Luce dashing up ahead of him, he heard the low Irish drawl that he would recognise anywhere. He caught the back of Luce's jacket, slowed her slightly and moved ahead. If she questioned him, he didn't hear it, his attention too preoccupied with finding his father.

Quickly, he spotted the man with Arthur against a wall. The other passengers were giving them room, not wanting to get involved, obviously recognising Arthur; Stan didn't think anyone would recognise his father. Ten years and a lot had changed.

'Arthur!' he called, but the two of them were too lost in their fight.

'… I'll cut your fucking throat and spread you on these tracks,' his father threatened. He pulled away, straightened Arthur's coat. Stan felt Luce's hand hovering at his back. Felt the tension coming off her in waves. Felt her reassuring presence when he needed it the most.

His father turned to him, shot him an almost malicious smile as he stood by his case. And then, he turned his attention back to the tracks as if he didn't know, or care for, either of his sons.

'Arthur,' said Stanley softly as his brother swept down to collect his hat.

His brother didn't even look at him, merely walked on like a man haunted.

'Go,' Luce said softly as Stan's attention followed his brother. 'Exploration will wait.'

Stan looked to her briefly. Her eyes were narrowed on his father, as if trying to work something out. He hastily pulled her away, not daring to leave her there, not wanting her to drawn his father's attention either, especially not after the stunt that he'd just pulled. 'Come on, I need to make sure he's all right.'

Luce allowed him to pull her away, but he knew she wasn't too happy about the whole thing. Knew that she'd been looking forward to this little trip and that the world suddenly seemed to be conspiring against her. He'd have to try and make it up to her eventually, but right now his brother needed him.

Stan stayed a few paces behind Arthur. He could tell that his brother wanted to be alone, but he also didn't want to leave him. Arthur was hurting, hurting more than ever, even since the War. Luce had disappeared off to Charlie's, but Stan had felt the jitteriness about her. She'd missed a chance to get out of city, and if there was one thing he'd learnt about Lucinda Turner it was that she needed a chance to find out something new from time to time. Especially after something like being kicked out of her rooms for some mysterious reason that had left a shadow on Tommy, and who knew what else on Grace.

But, as they neared the betting shop, Stanley slowed his pace. As soon as he stepped through the door he knew that he'd be walking into family business. But, this was business of another kind, one that he couldn't sit idly by and ignore.

'Arthur, wait,' he said, jogging to catch up. He patted his brother on the shoulder, gave it a squeeze. 'He's a jerk.'

His brother let out a hollow laugh. 'Only you, Stan boy, would say that.'

'Instead of more colourful language?' Stan asked, trying to bring at least a small smile to his brother's lips. He heaved a sigh. There was no way around this. 'What're you going to do?'

His brother shrugged as he opened the door.

Only Aunt Pol was in the kitchen area, but somehow that made it worse.

She didn't even properly look up as she asked, 'Where's your father?'

Arthur looked like a whipped puppy. Stan's heart went out to him, but there was nothing he could do. His brother wasn't looking for sympathy, wasn't looking for someone to reassure him that what he'd done wasn't terrible. He'd come here for the truth, and there was no avoiding it now.

'I'm assuming,' Aunt Pol went on, 'he's frittering away the five-hundred you took from us and put in his thieving, whore-groping hands.' Only then did her attention flick to Arthur with a coldness that made Stan shift back slightly. 'How dare you do something like that without talking to Thomas or me?'

'Aunt Pol,' Stan started to defend, but she shot him an icy look that shut him up immediately.

Arthur was silent for a moment before asking, 'Does Tommy know?'

Aunt Polly let the silence take hold for a few seconds as she looked back to her newspaper, as she flicked it straight. 'No. But you're gonna tell him.'

Hal followed Arthur, staying a good few paces behind the man. He was drunk, so Hal wasn't worried that he might be seen. Even on a good day he could tail Arthur for a fair few streets before the man felt the odd prickling of being watched on his back.

This was almost too easy.

He recognised the fight club even from a distance and swore mentally. Stanley had warned him, said that things were bad, but even Hal hadn't realised that they were quite this bad. The eldest Shelby had always had a penchant for getting into fights, but high emotions and too much alcohol were the perfect kindling for a raging storm that Hal would have to tamper.

'Right!' yelled Arthur as he walked into the room, bottle by his side. 'Who wants to fucking fight?'

'Fighting's over,' said Marston, still oddly calm for a man on the Blinders' list. 'We're closing up and moving on.'

'I said who wants to fucking fight?' Arthur insisted as the other two men moved passed him. They shot glares at Hal, but he paid them little heed. His attention was on his friend, on trying to figure out when to intervene. How far he could let this go to try and allow Arthur to get it out of his system.

But, upon seeing Arthur square up to Marston, one of them turned back. Hal stuck out an arm. 'I wouldn't,' he said out the side of his mouth, his attention still trained on Arthur.

'My name,' said Arthur, turning to face them, not even seeming to recognise Hal, 'is Arthur fucking Shelby! Who dares to fight me?!'

Hal stood behind the three men, his hand tapping on the handle of his pistol gently. His blood sung with the promise of a fight. Even if he had to challenge Arthur himself, he could bare it for his friend's sake.

'Go home, lad,' said Marston, his condescending tone causing Hal's shoulders to rise ever so slightly. 'Before you catch yourself a spanking.'

And then, they were gone, leaving Arthur to glare at Hal.

'You want a go?'

Hal shook his head, his hand fell away from his pistol and he moved to clap his friend on the shoulder. 'Come on,' he said, gently guiding him out of the warehouse, even as Arthur contented himself with taking a long drink of whiskey. 'Let's see if we can't find something else to do.'

'No!' snapped Arthur, shifting away from Hal. 'Fight me.'

'Arthur, I'm not going –'

'I'm your fucking boss,' growled Arthur, before taking a swing at Hal.

Hal ducked it, recognising the movement a second early enough. Arthur stumbled into the ropes; let out a laugh that could have been a sob.

'Come on, or are you chicken, boy?' snapped Arthur, moving to hit Hal in the ribs.

A hiss of pain escaped Hal before he could stop it. A hand went tentatively to the bruise already forming. This was nothing, but he had to stop it.

'Arthur,' he said, crouching ever so slightly, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, 'you don't want to do this.'

'Why don't you run off back to John? Afraid he doesn't need you anymore? Doesn't need his little dog.'

For a moment, Hal saw red. His anger welled and threatened to overwhelm him. It didn't matter that this was Arthur, that this was a hurting Arthur no less. The comment had been a low blow.

And then, he breathed. He ducked another oncoming fist, slapped the other man's arm away and danced back out of his reach.

'Arthur, go home,' he said, fighting to keep his voice even.

'No!' snapped Arthur, reaching for Hal's jacket.

Once again, he batted his arms away. 'You gonna be like this, fine,' Hal spat, turning on his heel. 'I'll be outside when you've finished wallowing in your daddy issues.'

He stalked away, grateful not to hear Arthur following him. At least his father had been decent enough when he was there. He might have left, but at least he hadn't taken his anger out on his kids, on his wife. He might have been a bastard but he had nothing on Hal's own father, and the fact that Arthur was only just realising that he couldn't rely on the man was something that Hal felt the others should be dealing with.

He sighed, ran his hands through his hair to slick it back a little more. But he kept walking.

Until he heard the soft sound of a prayer. Instantly he span, turned to see Arthur hanging there. His heart thundered in his chest, panic threatened to overwhelm him, but it turned to cold focus in an instant.

Hal raised his pistol, exhaled slowly, and shot.

The rope frayed in an instant. Arthur fell to the floor, his legs buckled as he groaned, as he started to cry.

But it didn't matter, he was alive, and Hal was rushing over to him before the pistol had even stopped smoking.

Arthur coughed, spluttered as he tried to get his breath back. Hal put a hand on the back of his neck, clasped it firmly.

'What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, man?' he asked, voice slightly sharper than he'd been intending. 'We'll sort this. We can always sort it.' He felt the twinge of a familiar pain, a pain that he tried every day to keep away even though it lingered on the periphery.

Arthur spluttered still, curling in on himself as if he could keep himself safe from the rest of the world somehow. And Hal kept his hand on the back of his neck, a reassuring presence until they could move. Until he could take Arthur home and try calming him down with the comfort of his family around him.

'You don't have to keep an eye on me, baby brother,' Arthur said, his voice hollow, his attention on the fireplace.

Stan shifted ever so slightly in his seat. He hadn't been able to look away from his brother since he got there. Since Hal had slammed the door. Polly had insisted that Stan stay while Hal explained what had happened, even with the haunted look behind the other man's eyes. And ever since, he'd refused to leave his brother's side, worry welling up inside him every time he so much as blinked.

'That's what family's for, Arthur. You taught me that,' Stan said in a small voice. He wanted to say more, but the words failed him.

A door opened, instantly Stan was on his feet, fear coursing through him that their father was back, back to cause more trouble, to take something from them that they'd never be able to replace. But he relaxed slightly when he spotted Tommy.

His older brother was silent as he crossed the room, as he gently moved Arthur's collar aside and then moved to take his coat off.

'So Polly told you?' asked Arthur.

'Yep,' was all Tommy said before he dropped into a spare seat. He poured himself a tea, his attention on Arthur.

For a moment, Stan felt as though he should leave. But he couldn't; he didn't have the heart. It would feel like abandoning Arthur somehow, and he couldn't do that.

'You should've used a gun,' said Tommy, so blasé that Stanley looked to him sharply.

'Tom!'

'Are you laughing at me, Tommy?' asked Arthur, voice low as he waved away Stan's shock.

'Yeah,' said Tommy simply. 'Just when things are starting to go right, Arthur, you try and do this.' Tommy shifted forwards in his seat, closing the space between him and Arthur, shutting Stan out.

Stan paced to the other side of the room, but still didn't leave. He couldn't. He'd heard of people doing things like this, especially after the War. He'd been grateful when none of his brothers seemed to have that flicker of desire. When they all came back, changed but willing to try and get back to normal in whatever ways they could. The War had left its marks on all of them, but none of them in that way.

'Don't you like fancy parties?' asked Tommy. 'Or, um… champagne or fast cars? Or 'ow about this…?' Tommy put his cup down, pulled something out of his pocket and offered it out to their eldest brother. Stan lent forwards ever so slightly to get a better look, wondered if this might not be why Tommy was so late getting there. 'Your name on a business card.'

'Shelby,' said Arthur slowly, either still taking the whole thing in or simply having difficulty reading, Stanley wasn't sure, 'Brothers Limited. Arthur Shelby. Associate bookmaker.' He scoffed.

'I just had them picked up from the printers this morning. You are one of three shareholders,' Tommy said, before glancing briefly at Stan. 'Still got to be eighteen, brother,' he said, a hint of apology behind his voice before he focused on Arthur once more. 'Me, you, John, and according to the law, we are equal partners and it's written on the paperwork in black and white. A third, a third, a third.' He sighed, drawing Arthur's attention away from the card and towards him. 'But the thing is, er, me and John we quite fancy splitting your share so, just next time, use a gun, man.'

'Tommy!' gasped Stan, but this time he'd heard the gentle jibing behind his brother's voice, knew that there was concern there as well. Whatever happened, Tommy would try to make sure that Arthur didn't fall down into that void again. This was his promise, in a sense.

Arthur scoffed, and Stan felt a little of the tightness in his chest loosen.

Tommy motioned him over, and Stan obliged, pausing only to pour himself a tea.

'Our men at the station tell me that copper is leaving town,' Tommy told them. 'We're in the clear.' He clapped them both on the shoulder, joining them in the whole affair, the part of the business Stan had tried so hard to keep away from but found himself being dragged further and further into recently. 'We are on our way up in the world, brothers. Believe me.'

And, as Stan's attention slipped to the little card that Arthur was still holding, he honestly believed that they just might be.


	6. Chapter Six: Up in the World

Hal had been asleep when Tommy knocked on the door. In an instant his gun had been out, his head clear and his attention on the door of Cecily's room. Initially, he hadn't known who it was. All his senses had been on high alert and he'd told Cece, despite her whispered protests, to stay behind the door. He'd edged closer, gun still raised, and asked who it was.

Apparently, he'd been the only one that hadn't made it stupidly easy to get hold of him, a fact that he was still smirking at John about. His friend had nudged him in the ribs a couple of times for the whole thing, but now they were finally in the Chinese quarter, the reality of the task at hand settled over them. Neither of them were laughing any more. It was business now.

Hal's attention skimmed the stalls, on the lookout for anything amiss while the others followed Tommy. As they dispersed, making their way through other stalls, hidden until they were needed, Hal waited by the edge of Zhang's place. He held some of the material in one hand, but his attention never remained still for more than a couple of seconds. Constantly watchful.

'For the suits,' Hal heard Tommy saying.

'You want to hear something funny?' asked Zhang, and despite straining his ears, Hal got no wind of what they were talking about.

After a moment, however, Tommy called his name. 'Wait here. I'm going out back.'

Hal raised an eyebrow at him, but Tommy shot him a derisive look before slipping through the shop. Hal didn't bother asking, he merely looked towards Zhang for a moment before resuming his post, knowing that if it was important enough, he'd eventually learn a bit more about the whole thing. And if it wasn't, well then, it didn't really matter enough to care about.

'Oh, little one,' cooed Polly, picking the crying baby up from the cot.

Luce still wasn't entirely sure why she was there, wasn't sure why Polly had wanted to check how her scarred hands were doing, but she wasn't about to start complaining. There was something almost comforting about having the two women with her, something that she'd missed after all her time in the yard. In fact, she was beginning to regret not asking Stanley more about his sister. After that first meeting Luce had never really found the time to get to know the woman who was watching her aunt fondly. It was a shame, but a mistake Lucinda was hopeful she could rectify slightly now.

'You're much better with him than I am,' said Ada from the doorway; she was leaning against the frame, arms folded gently across herself.

'He settles quicker with me cos he can't smell the milk,' said Polly pragmatically as Luce shifted to pour out some tea. 'You're tired. Let's put him down.' Polly carefully put the baby in the cot, and Ada moved to join her.

Luce hovered for only a moment before moving over to them. They'd not told her to leave yet, it would be rude not to follow through with the things that they were doing. And yet still she felt as though she were interrupting. Whatever comfort she found in their presence, she thought it would be ripped away from her at any moment.

'Mine were terrors for the tit,' Polly said softly. The comment gave Luce pause; despite how she obviously looked after the rest of the Shelby family, Luce had never thought of Polly as a mother herself. 'Both of them.' There was a moment's pause before she looked up at Ada. 'Well, you never knew my children, did you?'

Again, Luce felt as though she were intruding. And yet, she found that she couldn't walk away. Couldn't untangle herself from it all. The city seemed to have a way of hooking her and reeling her back in again. Or perhaps that was simply just the Shelby family.

Also, it would've been rude to simply leave partway through Polly's story.

'No, I was a child myself then,' said Ada. 'You never talk about them.'

'Never had reason to,' Polly said quickly. Too quickly. There was too much pain there, too many memories that she'd rather forget. Luce understood that desire far too well nowadays. 'My heart breaks even when I think about them. But today, I do have reason to.' Polly walked around so that she was on the other side of them. She glanced to Luce, as if evaluating the situation, before she nodded almost imperceptibly. 'Sit down, both of you.'

Luce glanced nervously at the door. She'd got to know a little about Polly when she was dealing with Luce's hands, she'd answered questions about Romani culture that Luce hadn't been able to stop herself from asking because of the pain, an attempt to distract herself more than anything. But she hadn't expected Polly Gray to invite her into this part of her life.

Eventually, after a long drawn out moment, she sat carefully on the edge of Ada's armchair. Started bouncing her knee nervously, hands wrapped around her cup, seeking its warmth.

'They were three and five years old,' started Polly, her voice low, as if this was a story that had happened to someone else, a long time ago. 'Sally was three, Michael was five. Well, he was two weeks away from being six. It was a Sunday morning. I – I was at church.' She paused, and Luce felt herself waiting with baited breath; for a moment, her thoughts went to her own mother, but she shook the thought clear. It didn't help. '"You're not forgiven." This… pitch-faced bitch said to me, "You're not forgiven." You see, some sheets I washed and hung on the line had the name of a hotel on them. They'd been stolen in a robbery, and they said some porter at the hotel had been coshed. And a woman from round here told the police about the sheets – jealous, you see, of the new sheets. And when the police came, they found a spirit still for making a few drops of gin. And for that…'

It was then that the dam broke. The tears that had been welling in Polly's eyes filled them to the brim. Luce felt the urge to go over there, but she knew that Polly wasn't the kind of person to accept that comfort. So she fiddled nervously with the material of her skirt. Too a shaky sip of her still too hot tea.

'They took my children from me. And they never told me where they took them. And they did it cos they could. And cos I was weak. But they will never take your baby away from you.' Polly wiped her eyes forcefully, and suddenly Luce felt as though she wanted to fall away from it all. The sorrow, the longing, was almost too much. 'Do you know why? Cos Tommy wouldn't let them. Cos Tommy won't let them walk all over us. Now it is Tommy who has given strength and power to this family. Cos he knows you have to be as bad as them above in over to survive. I'm telling you this cos I want you to forgive him.'

Luce shifted, as if to stand, but Polly looked to her sharply. Luce stilled, and she wondered if there wasn't a reason that she was there. If this was part of it now, helping to give a witness to things like this. Or maybe Polly knew. Maybe Tommy had told her that Luce was a runaway, and all this was to show her just what her own family might have been going through.

The letter she'd sent them a week ago suddenly felt as though it was nowhere near enough to quell their worries about her.

'How can I?' asked Ada bitterly. 'When my Freddie's rotting in jail because of him.'

This time, Polly did look to Luce. 'Would you mind going and making sure Hal isn't parched outside?'

Luce took the dismissal gratefully. She stood, trying not to look as though she was eager for air. Her thoughts had strayed to her own mother, to her family. Had they even seen her notes?

Suddenly, the air in the room was far too pressing.

She took slow steps out of the house, pulled open the door and then closed it gently behind her. She walked across the street and put a hand on the wall, feeling the rough brick beneath her fingers, practically clinging to it as she sucked in a deep breath.

'Polly's cooking ain't that bad,' came the gentle teasing voice of Hal.

Luce scoffed, closed her eyes tightly.

A hand placed carefully on her back made her tense. 'Come on, I hear there's a boat with your name on it.'

She sucked in one last breath before straightening and starting off down the road, only once glancing to Hal before hurrying away, hoping that her face wouldn't betray the rush of emotions Polly's story had given her. The homesickness that was welling inside her for a home that she could never return to, the one that had changed too irreversibly to bring her comfort any longer.

Hal traipsed after the brothers, his attention skittering around the street, looking out for signs of an attack that he doubted would come. Tommy had done enough for the city that there were few who would try anything now. But there were still some who would test their luck, some who Hal had to be even more cautious of.

His thoughts kept going back to Luce, though. The girl had looked so small after her meeting with Polly, and Ada, that he was beginning to worry. Not that it mattered. He was more concerned with the effect the whole thing would have on Stanley. They were close, after all. He just didn't want the younger boy getting hurt.

Hal nodded his greeting to a couple of the workers as he passed them, as he made his beeline for the back of the room, closest to the door. Beside him, he felt Stanley twitching. The lad hadn't wanted to be involved, and yet he hadn't been able to avoid it. He needed to know what was going on, needed it because otherwise he might get himself injured. Hal wondered if he wasn't there, in part, so that Tommy could assure him they were going legitimate.

Tommy took his place in front of the stage, the numbers blurring together behind him.

'Right, I've brought you all here today because this is the day we replace Billy Kimber,' Tommy announced. 'This is the day we become respectable. The day we join the official National Association of Race Course Bookmakers. But first, we do the dirty work. We've all known it's been coming. I just haven't told anyone the date.' He turned, pointed to the blackboard to highlight the information he was sharing. 'We're going to the Worcester races. The track opens at one, we get there at two.

'Now, Kimber thinks we're going there to help him fight the Lee brothers. But thanks to the efforts of our John, and his lovely new wife Esme, the Lees are now our kin. I interrupted those efforts this morning, and, er' – a ripple of laughter pealed around the room; Hal felt Stan stiffen ever so slightly at the barb – 'I can assure you all, John is making great sacrifices in the cause of peace.'

'Yeah, all right,' grumbled John, but Hal shot his friend a wink, tipped his head ever so slightly to Esme who offered him a smile in return.

'So,' said Tommy, taking back command of the room, 'it'll be us and the Lees against Kimber's boys. We take them out, then leave the bookies. I expect a swift victory which will send a signal all the way to London, that we believe in letting legitimate businesses run peacefully.'

John scoffed, a soft sound practically lost in the heavy weight of the room. 'And, er, what about Kimber himself?'

'I'll deal with Kimber,' Tommy vowed. 'Any other questions?'

Hal felt Stanley shifting ever so slightly beside him, but he rested a careful hand on the boy's shoulder, stilling the movement in an instant. Tommy would speak to him shortly enough, assure him that things would be all right. That he wouldn't have to do anything; except make sure their horse was looked after.

'Yes,' said Polly after a moment, moving towards the door. 'Oh, does anyone object if I bring a newcomer to the meeting?' She shot a knowing look around the room before making the last of her journey to the door and opening it slightly. After a second, she pulled it open properly, like a magician revealing that something had disappeared. Ada stood, framed in the doorway, the baby cradled in her arms. 'I'd like to introduce the newest member of the Shelby clan.'

Arthur started the applause as Ada walked through the room. She paused briefly by Stanley, who visibly relaxed at the sight of them. He cooed gently at the baby.

'Welcome home, Ada,' said Tommy, and there was a hint of relief behind his voice that Hal wasn't sure he'd heard before.

'We named him Karl,' Ada announced, a small smile on her face, her attention on Stanley as Karl reached out a tiny hand to him. 'After Karl Marx.'

Laughter rippled around the room.

'Karl bloody Marx?' said Arthur, before he started walking over to them. 'Let me get a look at him.'

'Oh, here we go,' teased John as he held onto the wooden pole. Beside him, Esme's grin couldn't have been bigger.

Arthur gently took Karl, eased the hat onto his head. 'Eh, look. He looks just like me, look.'

Laughter pealed around the room; Stanley wrapped an arm around his sister. 'It's good to see you,' he said softly.

She smiled at him, ruffled his hair gently.

'That's his arse looks like you, Arthur,' jibed John.

'He's all right,' said Arthur, his voice soft. 'He's a Shelby.'

The room shifted; the workers moved away, leaving the family to greet its newest member. Hal shifted slightly to one side, but John moved towards him, elbowed him briefly in the ribs.

'You're family too, mate,' he reminded him, before gently gripping his elbow and leading him towards the baby, just as Ada hugged Tommy.

Stanley fiddled nervously with his hat. He'd never wanted to be a part of this, but he knew he was there to keep up appearances. He just hoped that he wouldn't need the hat. He walked behind Finn, trying to make sure that the boy didn't cause too much trouble. Around him, the others seemed to bristle with the common ideal. With the thing that they were about to do.

Charlie and Curly were in tow, which meant Luce was at the yard alone. He badly wanted to be there, instead of dealing with all this, but Tommy had asked him to come. A promise that this was the first step in them becoming legitimate. In him no longer having to worry about them all constantly.

Stan wanted to hover outside, he didn't fancy heading into the pub, but being a Shelby didn't allow him to do that. The others all but ushered him in, and he put a protective hand on Finn's shoulder, keeping him close. For whose benefit though, he couldn't be sure.

'All right, lads, listen up,' announced Tommy as Harry folded his paper away, and Grace moved to the bar, ready to serve them. 'You have a pint and a chaser, no more. On the house.'

'Do I get Hal's?' jibed John, hitting his friend gently on the back of the head, ruffling his hat. Hal knocked his hand away, but there was a smirk on his face.

'Na, I'm the eldest,' said Arthur, draping an arm across the man's shoulders.

Tommy moved behind the bar, a smirk on his face, as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. 'Right,' he said, and Stanley felt a smirk tugging at his lips as Finn clambered up onto a stool. 'Let's get pouring.'

'I'll have yours,' Finn said, his eyes alight with amusement as he looked to Stan.

'Hey! What if I wanted them?' Stanley teased, watching as Tommy passed out drinks, as he spoke with Grace in a low whisper that got lost to the noise of the others.

Finn scoffed, practically clambered across the metal bar to reach for Scudboat's beer. The man pulled it away quickly, glowered at Finn with a look that plainly said "You little rascal."

'C'mon, Finn, you don't want none of that,' said Stan, shifting to try and grab his own drink. He didn't want it, but there was an odd kind of thrill about being there with the others that he couldn't believe he'd distanced himself from. At least, not at the moment.

He saw Tommy disappear off into the back room, saw that Grace was no longer there. He heard the gentle teasing of the others, but his attention was on Hal, who was striding around the back of the others. He clapped some of them on the backs, greeting them with the confidence that Stanley had so often seen through. Hal had taken lessons off Tommy on presenting a false mask. But the fissures still showed.

Hal clapped him on the shoulder, jolting Stanley forwards ever so slightly. 'You ready to protect our horses?'

'When ain't I?' Stan asked, feeling the flicker of a smile on his face.

Hal's grip tightened ever so slightly. 'You look after yourself too, yeah?'

Stanley's hands went to the hat that was now in his lap. He felt the heavy weight of the razor blades under the peak, felt the cool metal there that he knew could be turned deadly. Not by him, but the threat of them alone was possibly enough.

The doors were flung open. Everyone in the Garrison readied themselves for a fight. Hal shifted ahead of the two younger Shelby brothers, but Stan's attention was on the door that hid Tommy from them. Would he notice the shift in the room?

But the tension broke as soon as they realised that it was Jeremiah. He made a beeline for Arthur. He looked harried, seemed to suck most of the cheer from the room. Left Stanley with a cold shiver down his back.

'What is it, Jeremiah?' asked Arthur, his tone hard but completely under control. Any hint of battle drunkenness gone from his voice.

'There's Riley vans coming down the Stratford Road,' said Jeremiah. 'Kimber's boys.'

'Fuck!' cursed John, but Arthur was already ushering the other man through to Tommy.

Stanley looked worriedly towards Finn, gripped his arm tightly and helped him down off the bar. They had to get out of there.

Hal gripped his shoulder, held him firm. 'They'll come here,' he said in a low voice as murmurs ran around the room, as the message was relayed to Tommy. 'You two get out. Go to Charlie's.'

'I wanna stay!' said Finn petulantly.

Stan's heart thundered against his chest. He'd never felt like more of an outsider in his own family.

The grip on his arm tightened. 'Get to the yard, get Luce, and head off. If Kimber's smart he'll have men everywhere.'

'And if he's not?!' squeaked Stanley, just as Tommy strode out of the back room. Any amusement that he might have been feeling previously; any confidence that had seeped through to the others, was gone.

'Finn, check the streets. Stay hidden and come straight back here if you see anything,' Tommy said, instantly in battle mode, knowing where strengths lay and how to utilise them without really needing to think. 'Stan, make sure that the yard and the shop are empty. Head back to Pol's. I'll let her and Ada know.

'The rest of you, get your weapons. Wait here, hold the line if they come through.'

'Yes, sir,' came the resounding call from the Garrison, but Stanley was already hurrying through the door, needing to get out of there.

But Tommy's words rang in his ears, and it was only then that he realised their importance.

Luce was at the yard, and she had no idea what kind of danger was heading her way just because she'd offered to help a man with his boats.

_Fuck_, Stanley cursed mentally before hurrying on, knowing that he needed to get there before Kimber's men got the chance to think smart.

'All right, men,' announced Tommy, running up the ramp. Hal checked his own pistols once more. 'You were mostly in the War, so you know that battle plans always change and get fucked up. Well 'ere it is. Things have changed. We fight them here. Today. Alone. Now, they're gonna come for the pub. They're gonna try to break us up for good. And we'll have no help from the law today. That pub there is called the Garrison. Well, now it really is one. And it belongs to us, right?'

'Right!' they all called, the feeling of comradery a pull in itself. Hal felt the old familiar feeling of battle surety filling him. Initially, he'd been terrified when he was fighting. But soon it had shifted. He'd found himself feeling much calmer as they walked into the danger; longing for the moments when they could get back to that. Sitting idly by hadn't suited him for years now.

'How many are there?' bellowed Arthur.

'Jeremiah says two Riley vans,' Tommy reminded them. 'So I reckon we're outnumbered three to one.'

'Ah fuck,' cursed Arthur.

'But it's us, boys. It's us. The Small Heath Rifles. Never lost a fight yet, did we?'

'No!' they all called back.

'All right. Jeremiah. I know you vowed to God to never pick up a weapon again. But can you ask him from me if you can help us today?' asked Tommy.

Jeremiah saluted. 'God says he don't deal with Small Heath, sir.'

'Good man,' said Tommy, and Hal felt a little of the tensions shifting from them; turning into something else.

John shared a quick glance with Hal. There was a question behind it, a reassurance that they'd shared often before the War, one that they'd oddly perfected during it.

'Arthur, Scudboat. You take the flanks. Just like at St. Marie.'

'Sir,' barked Scudboat.

'Curly, if any Shelby man dies here today, you bury us side by side,' Tommy said, not giving anyone a moment to take the comment in. 'All right. We're about ten minutes. Make your peace with whoever.'

Hal moved towards Finn, shooting John a small smile. A reassurance that things would work out. He didn't feel it himself, but he knew his friend needed it. 'You get out the way, Finn.'

'Head in,' said John, moving towards the two of them. He clasped his little brother on the shoulder, his fingers digging into the kid's flesh. 'Go out the back and head to Aunt Pol's.'

Hal noticed the familiar look of Shelby mutiny flashing to life behind Finn's eyes. But, it faded quickly and he nodded before scurrying away.

'Never far from the fight, hey?' asked Hal, his friend's attention was following his brother though, making sure he found the safety of the Garrison even though it wasn't far.

John chuckled, shook his head ever so slightly. 'When weren't we?'

Hal merely shrugged, nudged his friend's shoulder gently with his own. He wanted to reassure him, to remind him that his kids would be all right, that he'd be back with Esme before he knew it. But the words wouldn't come, and he wasn't sure he could cope with another lie at the moment.

He just hoped that he might be proved wrong this time. After all, they'd survived the War together. Surely this couldn't be as bad as all that.

Luce paced the front room. Stanley had come to her in the yard, grabbed her hand and told her that they had to run. Part of her sang with the idea, the adventure of it all. But a bigger part of her could feel the fear coming off him, could see the line of tension in his shoulders.

And they'd run. She hadn't asked what they were running from, hadn't really had the opportunity. But now, now she was beginning to wonder just what she'd got herself caught in the middle of.

Polly was smoking by the window, a pot of tea growing cold on the table. The whole room was tense. Luce knew that she was only getting half the story, that there were some things they couldn't tell her, but that only concerned her all the more. She'd seen the horror behind Sy's eyes sometimes when things were particularly bad with what his family were a part of.

'They'll be all right, won't they, Pol?' asked Stan, leaning against the wall, chewing nervously on his thumb.

'Tommy's got a plan,' was all she said in way of answer. 'Are you trying to wear a hole in my floor?'

Her stern voice snapped Luce's full attention to the woman. She froze, felt her face flush. 'Sorry.'

Polly waved the apology away. She moved to wrap an arm around Stanley's shoulders. 'They've been through worse, and they came back to us. They can survive this too.'

Luce felt a shiver go down her back. She turned away from the two of them, busied herself with collecting some of the lose betting slips from the table. She needed to be doing something, needed to be moving; at least betting slips wouldn't be something that they thought she couldn't see... Would they?

'You should go home when all this is done,' said Polly, her voice soft and yet somehow even more authoritative for it. 'Let your family know you're safe. A girl like you –'

'I can't go home, Polly,' Luce said as her back stiffened, as she tried to keep herself moving, not to show the effect the simple comment had had. But she knew there was no hiding something like that from Polly. 'I just… I can't.' The words got caught in her throat.

She heard footsteps behind her, and suddenly Stan was hugging her, holding her close. She wanted to push him away, wanted to move again, to keep moving until she could outrun it all. But he held firm, rubbed her back gently.

'It's all right,' he said softly, his voice so quiet that Luce knew it wasn't for Polly. 'You can stay here. No matter what.'

Luce let out a long breath, closed her eyes and hugged him back. But there was no sating the urge to run, to put Birmingham behind her. Even if only for a little while.

The boys walked, their attention on the other side. Hal made a quick count of the numbers, knew that there was a lot more of them than their own. But they were the Peaky Blinders, they'd been through worse scrapes than this and pulled through.

Whatever Kimber was telling his men, Hal wasn't listening. He glanced briefly around, making sure that Finn hadn't snuck out to get a glimpse of what was going on. Making sure there were no other civilians that might get caught in the crossfire.

'All guns and no balls, right, Billy boy?' baited John, his rifle ready as they met in the middle.

Hal let out a brief breath. Not quite a scoff, but close enough that it eased a little of the tightness in his chest.

'So, what do we do now?' asked Arthur. 'Just give the order.'

Tommy took a breath. Shook his head almost imperceptibly. But Hal noticed it. He'd spent his life looking for the small things, looking for the signals that people gave without realising it.

'It doesn't have to be like this, Kimber,' Tommy said reasonably.

Kimber scoffed; there was no humour behind the noise. 'Too late for all that. You've bit off more than you can chew, you little toerag. And now I'm gonna take over this shithole.'

'Oh? We have to use guns, let's use proper guns,' said Tommy, as if he were mildly amused by the whole thing.

'Sergeant Thorne reporting for duty, sir,' said Freddie as they parted to let him through, the Lewis in his hands.

'You were saying something about being out-gunned,' noted Tommy, just as every gun was aimed and primed.

For a moment, Hal felt the clarity of a battle shoot through him. It filled him in a way that he couldn't ignore, forced a small smile onto his lips.

Tension filled the street, no one wanting to make the first move. Hal's finger itched but he knew they had to wait. Knew the importance of this moment. Between one breath and the next. Between a decision and a consequence.

'Move!' someone shouted from the other side, and it took a moment for Hal to place the voice: Ada Thorne. Kimber's men parted, revealing Ada and the pram; baby Karl crying from inside it.

'What are you doing?' asked Freddie, the fear touching his voice more pronounced than ever before.

'I believe you boys call this "no-man's land",' Ada said simply, still walking.

'Ada!'

'Shut up and listen,' Ada snapped, cutting her husband off.

'Have you lost your mind?'

'I said shut up!' There was no room for argument behind Ada's voice. Even Hal cast a brief look to John, checking that this was really happening. It was only when he looked back at Ada that he realised what she was wearing, an outfit fit for a widow.

'Now, most of you were in France. So you all know what happens next. I've got brothers and a husband here but you've all got somebody waiting for you. Now, I'm wearing black in preparation. I want you to look at me.' Ada looked directly at Freddie for a moment, as if they were the only two in the world. And then, she addressed everyone once more. 'I want you all to look at me. Who'll be wearing black for you? Think about them. Think about them right now. And fight if you want to, but that baby ain't moving anywhere. And neither am I.' Her voice cracked at the end, but if there had ever been any doubt about the Shelby women, Ada had successfully blown it out of the water. They were all as ballsy as any of the men. If not more so.

'She's right, you know,' said Kimber, sending a shiver of unease down Hal's back. 'Why should all you men die? It should just be them who's caused it.' He pulled a gun, shot Tommy before anyone could do anything.

Tommy stumbled; Arthur and Danny were both moving forwards. The world blurred. In an instant, Hal's gun was raised, but he dare not shoot as he moved closer to the middle; closer to Ada and Karl.

Noise swelled around him, but none of the voices were Tommy's. None of them were the orders that Hal listened out for. The ones that he had got so used to in France; even if he'd been the one to help give some of them.

'Ada, come on,' he said, gripping her arm, glancing at Freddie, assuring him that he needed to hold his own position. He ushered her aside; using himself as a shield for her and the baby.

And then, they were barely out of the line of fire, a shot came across. Hal watched as it went through Kimber's head. As he stumbled backwards, his men at a complete loss for what to do.

'Enough!' yelled Tommy, commanding the attention of everyone in the street. The silence spread, everyone waiting for what would happen next. If this was still going to turn into a bloodbath or not. 'Kimber and me fought this battle one on one,' said Tommy eventually. 'It's over. Go home to your families.'

Slowly, the weight of Tommy's words hit them. They all backed away, not daring to turn their backs on the Blinders before they finally started to hurry away; two of them picked up their boss, flanked by two more with guns. Only now did Hal see that Danny had been hit. That he wasn't going to be getting back up.

'Scudboat, Curly, pick him up,' said Tommy softly before turning away and walking back towards the Garrison.

Hal patted Ada briefly on the shoulder, moved off with the others as Freddie went to his wife. A small nod of gratitude passed off between them.

Hal couldn't be where the death was. He couldn't hear any more yells of pain as the others went about getting the bullet out of Tommy. He'd seen too much, heard too much for a lifetime. So he'd gone to collect the others, to tell Polly, Stan and Finn about Danny. He'd been shocked to see Luce there. Even more so when she insisted upon coming too. For a moment, Hal had hesitated. But Polly vouched for her, and Hal obliged.

It was odd, heading back to the Garrison with a family that she didn't really know, but Luce had needed to bury this particular ghost. She felt bad that the only way for this to happen now was to actually see Daniel Owen dead, but it was exactly the closure that she hadn't had for much recently.

The grief in the room was heavy, and Luce stayed in the doorway, a hand tangled with Stan's, offering him what little comfort she could. Oddly, she couldn't help but be grateful that it was just a bullet wound, that it wasn't anything worse. She shook off thoughts of zeppelins, of the destruction left in their wake, focused on the now. On the people that needed her in this moment.

'Now we can bury him properly,' said John in a low voice, 'in the grave we dug for him.'

'Yeah,' breathed Tommy. 'It's high on a hill. He'll like that.'

The silence was once again pressing, but Tommy pulled the cork out of a bottle with his teeth, raised it high into the air.

'To Danny Whizz Bang,' he toasted.

'Danny,' rang the answering reply.

'May we all die twice,' finished Tommy, before taking a swig for himself.

The bottle was passed around, everyone toasting the man's name before taking a drink. Luce could feel Stan's hand trembling in her own; could see the haunted look behind Hal's eyes as he stared at the wall, unable to look at the body of his friend. But Tommy's eyes followed the bottle, followed the wave of grief as it ran around the room. It pained him, it seemed, and yet he didn't look away once. As if he were punishing himself for letting this happen to one of his men.

'Come on,' Tommy said when everyone had done their bit. 'The day is ours, let's celebrate.'

The sounds of celebration filled the air, and yet still they did very little to improve Stanley's mood. He knew that he should share in it, that he should be happy his brothers were alive, that things hadn't got too out of hand. But his thoughts kept circling back to Danny, to the fact that he'd died trying to save Tommy. At least, that's what Hal had said, his attempt at making Stanley feel better about the whole thing.

It had done nothing of the sort. In fact, in some ways knowing that made it worse. His heart bled for Danny's kids. For the boys that would grow up without their father around. He knew what that could be like all too well; at least he'd been able to entertain the idea that their father might come back a changed man. Twice now the Owenses had lost Danny.

The thought was enough to make tears prickle Stan's eyes.

But at least Luce was there. She wasn't getting swept up in it all, her attention straying worriedly towards him every so often. If her eyes weren't on him, they were focused on something that he couldn't see; her thoughts tangled up in her own world, far away from the Garrison and the horrors that she'd already seen in Birmingham. He only hoped they were happier thoughts.

'A toast,' yelled Arthur, snapping Stanley's attention that way, 'to Shelby Limited!

A roar rang around the Garrison, and in that moment it was all too much. He stood up, gave Luce's hand a squeeze when she looked to him sharply, worriedly. He offered her little more than a shake of the head before he went outside, needing the biting cold, needing to be alone with his thoughts without the voices of others nettling him.

It seemed, however, that he wasn't the only one to avoid the celebrations. He watched as the cart drove off, taking Danny away. Tommy stood with his back to the door, watching another of his friends taken from him all over again.

Stanley hovered in the doorway, not sure if he should go to his brother or head back inside.

Tommy made the decision for him. 'I'm sorry you didn't get to go to the races.'

Baffled, Stanley walked forwards, stepping up beside his brother and watching the now quiet street. There was almost no way of knowing what had happened here mere hours before. No taint for the people that hadn't seen it, other than the whispered rumours that would soon be spreading around the city like wildfire.

'But now we're legitimate,' continued Tommy, 'we can buy more horses. You can train 'em up and come to the races without worrying.'

'Will you help?' Stan asked, his voice small. Suddenly, he was in desperate need of reassurance he hadn't gone looking for from his brothers in a while.

Tommy took a long, pensive drag of his cigarette before finally looking towards Stanley. 'Every day, brother,' he vowed. 'And the more horses we get, the more help you'll need.' He took another drag, let the smoke billow through the air between them. 'If you wanted, you could ask Luce to help.'

'She prefers the boats,' Stan said without thinking. He was grateful for the dark though. The speed with which he'd answered brought a weak blush to his cheeks, one he was keen to hide from his brother. 'Thanks for letting her stay.'

'She lives above the pub, Stan,' said Tommy, but there was a note of teasing behind his voice, a freedom that Stanley hadn't fully heard since his brothers came back from the War. 'If we didn't invite her I doubt she'd get much sleep.' There was a pause, one that Stan let settle between them. They didn't need words, just knowing that the other was there was enough.

But, once again, Tommy broke the quiet. 'Be careful with that one though, Stan,' he said softly, the warning obvious behind his voice, even if he was trying to pass it off as a joke. 'Don't let her break your heart.'

Stan opened his mouth to argue, to remind his brother that she was a friend, but closed it again quickly. He knew friends could break your heart just as much as anyone else, so he kept his thoughts to himself. He just nodded.

Tommy clapped him on the shoulder, somehow shedding the dark mood that had settled over him. 'You head back inside, I'll join you in a while.'

'Where're you going?' Stan asked as his brother started off down the street, his cigarette bobbing in the darkness.

'Don't you worry, Stanley. I'll be back,' was all Tommy said on the matter.

Stan sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and turned back towards the celebrations. But he could feel the embers of hope burning gently inside his chest. They were going legitimate. The dirty work had been done, they were finally on the road to doing things right, and that was something that he'd wished for for a very long time.

_Dear Stan,_

Luce wrote, but she couldn't go on. Every thought that went through her head, every explanation, felt too insignificant. It felt trivial to tell him that she was leaving because too much had happened. Because she still hadn't been able to outrun the memories and the heartbreak that had brought her to Birmingham.

In fact, she was pretty sure that a few more had been added to the list. Ones that she'd be unable to scrub clean either.

And yet, she wasn't sure that she could actually leave without doing this. Without offering him some semblance of closure. She needed him to understand that this wasn't because of what she'd seen his family do, what he was inadvertently a part of. It was her own cowardice that was forcing her to run. But that wasn't something that she wanted to put down in writing either.

She'd spent the very early morning tidying up the bar. After the Shelbys had left, and with no Grace, she'd tidied in amicable silence with Harry. It had given her time to think, time to re-evaluate what she'd been doing in Birmingham. Yes, she'd made friends. And yes, she'd loved the little outings that she'd managed to fit in. But none of it had helped. She still felt her brother breathing down her neck. Still felt London like a shadow on her soul that she'd never fully be able to shake.

Too many distractions and still nothing had worked.

Perhaps she should try Wales. Maybe there it might be different. Maybe there she could find a sense of peace that England hadn't provided her with.

Maybe she'd even go to the continent… But she knew she couldn't do that. For everything that she was trying to outrun, a different continent was too much. What if someone needed her? What if something happened and she was the last to know because no one could get hold of her?

_I will see you shortly, Luce, don't you worry about that._

Sy's words came back to her unbidden. The letter that had arrived too late. The letter that should have been his last because he was coming home. Not because he'd died, too early to see the armistice signed.

Luce shook her head firmly, trying to rid herself of the tears. She felt one of them roll down her cheek when she blinked.

Without thinking she wrote the two words that she thought summed up what she wanted to say to Stan:

_I'm sorry._

It was all she could handle. She hoped it would make it easier on him, the impersonal message; the assurance in a way that it wasn't his fault. It was hers. With shaking fingers she folded the note, made sure that it stood up on her desk in pride of place for Harry to see if he came to check she was all right when he didn't see her leaving.

And then, she grabbed her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and snuck out of the place that she had called home while in Birmingham.

Or at least, tried to. A figure sat hunched over the bar, their head bowed and their hands resting on the cool metal, fingers drumming against it ever so slightly.

'I'm sorry,' she said, steeling her resolve, forcing herself to look out for the place one last time, 'we're closed.'

A gentle scoff, a sound that was at once oddly familiar. And yet, it felt almost hollow in the emptiness of the room.

'We've lost one employee here. I didn't realise that was all it would take to lose two.'

Tommy's voice was even, but there was a flicker of something else, something barely contained under the surface.

'Do I need to hand in a resignation letter?' The words escaped her before she could stop them. She bit back anything else, eyes wide as she watched Tommy.

But he remained at the bar, lit a cigarette almost lazily. Then, once it had caught, he patted the seat beside him.

Luce's fight of flight instinct ran into overdrive. She wanted nothing more than to run. She could make it, she thought. She could run out of the door, into the street and then…

Then where? Any plans she'd had ended the minute a Peaky Blinder saw her. What if she ran into Stanley? Could she say goodbye to his face?

With a shaky sigh, Luce shifted towards the bar. She was almost grateful for the seat to take her weight. It meant that her knees wouldn't buckle completely beneath her. She didn't remove her bag from her back though.

'Lucinda Turner,' he said, his attention on the bottles still behind the bar, almost decorating the wall with various shades of browns. 'You are a difficult girl to find out about.' He let the words hang between them as he let out a drag of smoke. 'But Danny did. Is that why you came? To make sure he was dead this time?'

Outrage flared to life inside Luce, but she managed to keep a hold on it. Managed to swallow the words. Instead, she fiddled with her hair, plaited a section just to try calming her nerves.

'It seems,' Tommy went on, as if realising that she wasn't going to say anything, 'you have links to one of the big players in Camden. Mr. Sabini –'

'I have no links with _him_,' she spat, unable to stop herself. Her hands stilled, she turned to look at Thomas Shelby. But he was watching her curiously now; she could have sworn that there was almost a flicker of a smirk playing on his lips.

'So we have something in common,' he said evenly around his cigarette; but Luce could tell he wasn't buying it. Just what had Danny found out? 'I have plans of expanding one day. You know London…' He said it as if it were an offer, a question hanging in the air. But there was something underneath it that sent a ripple of unease down Luce's spine.

'I don't know anything,' she said, fighting to keep her voice even, not to reveal how terrified she was about the whole thing. She looked away from him in the hopes of not letting him see the toll it was taking on her.

'You know the city,' he countered. 'You scurry around here so often you probably know more about Birmingham than half the people that live here.'

Luce shook her head ever so slightly.

'You wouldn't need to _go _to London,' he said after a moment's pause. A moment where every fear Luce had hoped to dismiss by being this far from home crashed over her. They threatened to drown her. 'Just, tell us what you know about Sabini and his ilk.'

'And if I know nothing?' she asked, voice hollow.

'Then we'll find it out on our own,' he said simply. 'But I can't imagine anyone feeling safe with someone who has, even tenuous links, to Sabini around here soon.'

Luce looked to him sharply. Her dread replaced with that fiery anger that she thought she'd smothered. 'What was the point in asking them?' she spat bitterly.

That flicker of a smirk on his lips again. Somehow, that was enough to douse the flame of anger. Oddly, she remembered the sheep's brains on his face, remembered the way he'd reacted after the horse. There was something more human about him than he let anyone believe. He was still a terrible person, but he was also Stan's brother.

He stood up slowly, plucked the cigarette from between his lips and motioned to the doors. 'You can leave, if you really want,' he said, as if it were really that simple. 'I only asked, because of Stan; and because I think that you might want to see Sabini taken down more than any of the rest of us.'

A ripple of nerves went across Luce. For a moment, the idea of bolting flood her. Perhaps she could just outrun it all, maybe she hadn't gone far enough. But there was a smidgen of truth behind what Tommy had said.

She heaved a sigh, shook her head ever so slightly. 'I stay here, and at the yard, but right now I need an adventure.'

Tommy inclined his head a little. 'Make sure you don't forget Stan, God knows he could do with getting out of the city for a while.'

She looked him dead in the eye as she said, 'Never,' before walking out of the Garrison, desperately hoping that he couldn't hear her thundering heart, or smell her fear in the air.

_A/N: And so marks the end of book one for this story. Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this. Also, I want to say a massive thank you to fiercefray (Tumblr name) for all the love and support you've given to these characters and this story, it's been a massive help and I don't know what I would have done writing this without you. _

_I do have book two for this written and ready to post if people want it. To be honest, even if no one does I'll probably end up posting it in a few weeks because part of me hates having unpublished writing like this, and part of me is terrified to share it all the time. But anyway, thank you again, and I hope you enjoy whatever you end up reading next!_


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